FIVE  HUNDRED 
DOLLARS 


ALGER 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00029633941 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2011  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/fivehundreddollaOalge 


FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS 


HORATIO  ALGER,  Jr. 

AUTHOR  OF   "  THE  ERIE  TRAIN    BOY,"   "  FROM   FARM   BOY  TO 
SENATOR,"    "THE  YOUNG    ACROBAT,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
HURST   &   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


ALGER  SERIES    FOR    BOYS. 


UNIFORM  WITH  THIS  VOLUME, 

By  HORATIO  ALGER,  Jr. 

Making  His  Way. 
Mark  Mason. 
Only  an  Irish  Boy. 


Adrift  in  New  York. 

A  Cousin's  Conspiracy. 

Andy  Gordon. 

Andy  Grant's  Pluck. 

Bob  Burton. 

Bound  to  Rise. 

Brave  and  Bold. 

Cash  Boy. 

Chester  Rand 

Do  and  Dare. 

Driven  from  Home. 

Erie  Train  Boy. 

Facing  the  World. 

Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Frank's  Campaign. 

Grit. 

Hector's  Inheritance. 

Helping  Himself. 

Herbert  Carter's  Legacy. 

In  a  New  World. 

Jack's  Ward. 

Jed,  the  Poor  House  Boy. 

Joe's  Luck. 

Julius,  the  Street  Boy. 

Luke  Walton. 


Paul,  the  Peddler. 
Phil,  the  Fiddler. 
Ralph  Raymond's  Heir. 
Risen  from  the  Ranks. 
Sam's  Chance. 
Shifting  for  Himself. 
Sink  or  Swim. 
Slow  and  Sure- 
Store  Boy. 
Strive  and  Succeed. 
Strong  and  Steady. 
Struggling  Upward. 
Tin  Box. 

Tom,  the  Bootblack. 
Tony,  the  Tramp. 
Try  and  Trust. 
Wait  and  Hope. 
Walter  Sherwood's  Pro- 
bation. 
Young  Acrobat. 
Young  Adventurer. 
Young  Outlaw. 
Young  Salesman. 


Price,   Post-Paid,  jjc.   each,   or  any   three 
books  for  $1.00. 

HURST  &  COMPANY 
Publishers,  New  York. 


FIVE    HUNDRED    DOLLARS, 

OR,  JACOB  MARLOWE'S  SECRET. 


CHAPTER    I. 

A   NEW   ARRIVAL   IN   LAKEVILLE. 

Slowly  through  the  village  street  walked 
an  elderly  man,  with  bronzed  features  and 
thin  gray  hair,  supporting  his  somewhat  un- 
certain steps  by  a  stout  cane.  He  was  appar- 
ently tired,  for,  seeing  a  slight  natural  eleva- 
tion under  a  branching  elm  tree,  he  sat  down, 
and  looked  thoughtfully  about  him. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  Lakeville  hasn't  changed 
much  since  I  left  it,  twenty  years  since.  Has 
there  been  any  change  among  those  who  are 
near  to  me?  I  don't  know,  but  I  shall  soon 
find  out.  Shall  I  receive  a  welcome  or  not? 
There  ought  to  be  two  families  to  greet  me, 
but " 

Beve  a  boy  appeared  on  the  scene,  a  boy  of 
3 


4  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

fifteen,  with  a  sturdy  figure  and  a  pleasant 
face,  whose  coarse  suit  indicated  narrow 
means,  if  not  poverty.  Seeing  the  old  man, 
with  instinctive  politeness  he  doffed  his  hat 
and  with  a  pleasant  smile  bade  him  good- 
morning. 

"  Good-morning,"  returned  the  traveller, 
won  by  the  boy's  pleasant  face  and  manner. 
*'  If  you  are  not  in  a  hurry  won't  you  sit  down 
by  me  and  answer  a  few  questions?" 

"  With  pleasure,  sir ;  my  business  isn't  driv- 
ing." 

'•  This  is  Lakeville,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  used  to  know  the  place — a  good  many 
years  since.     It  hasn't  grown  much." 

"  No,  sir;  it's  rather  quiet." 

"  Chiefly  a  farming  region,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  there  is  a  large  shoe  manu- 
factory here,  employing  a  hundred  hands." 

"  Who  is  the  owner?  " 

"  Squire  Marlowe." 

"  Ha ! "  ejaculated  the  old  man,  evidently 
interested.     "  Albert  Marlowe,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  do  you  know  him?  " 

"  I  haven't  met  him  for  twenty  years,  but  we 
are  acquainted.     I  suppose  he  is  prosperous." 

"  He  is  considered  a  rich  man,  sir.  He  is  a 
relation  of  mine." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  5 

^'  Indeed !  What  then  is  your  name? " 
asked  the  old  man,  eagerly. 

"  Herbert  Barton — most  people  call  me  Bert 
Barton." 

Bert  was  surprised  at  the  keen  scrutiny 
which  he  received  from  the  traveller. 

"  Was  your  mother  Mary  Marlowe? "  the 
latter  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  returned  Bert.  "  Did  you  know 
her,  too?" 

"  I  ought  to ;  she  is  my  niece,  as  the  man 
you  call  Squire  Marlowe  is  my  nephew." 

"  Then  you  must  be  Uncle  Jacob,  who  has 
lived  so  many  years  in  California?  "  said  Bert, 
excitedly, 

"  The  same." 

"  Mother  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you," 
added  Bert,  cordially. 

"  Thank  you,  my  boy.  Your  kind  welcome 
does  me  good.  I  hope  your  mother  is  well 
and  happy," 

"  She  is  a  widow,"  answered  Bert  soberly. 

"  When  did  your  father  die?  " 

"  Two  years  ago." 

"  I  hope  he  left  your  mother  in  comfortable 
circumstances." 

Bert  shook  his  head. 

"  He  only  left  the  small  house  we  live  in, 
and  that  is  mortgaged  for  half  its  value." 


6  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Then  how  do  you  live?  " 

"  Mother  covers  base-balls  for  a  firm  in  the 
next  town,  and  I  am  working  in  the  big  shoe 
shop." 

"  Doesn't  Squire  Marlowe  do  anything  for 
your  mother?  " 

"  He  gave  me  a  place  in  the  shop — that  is 
all." 

"  Yet  he  is  rich,"  said  the  old  man,  thought- 
fully. 

"  Yes,  he  lives  in  a  fine  house.  You  can  see 
it  down  the  street  on  the  other  side — that 
large  one  with  a  broad  piazza.  He  keeps  two 
horses  and  two  handsome  carriages,  and  I  am 
sure  he  must  have  plenty  of  money." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  I  have  been  a  long 
time  among  strangers.  It  will  be  pleasant  to 
come  to  anchor  at  the  house  of  a  rich  relation. 
Where  does  your  mother  live?" 

"  In  a  small  cottage  at  the  other  end  of 
the  street.  Won't  you  come  home  with  me, 
Uncle  Jacob?    Mother  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  must  call  at  Albert  Marlowe's  first. 
What  family  has  he?" 

"  He  has  one  boy  about  my  own  age." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  velry  intimate — being 
cousins." 

Bert  laughed. 

"  He   wouldn't   thank   you   for   calling  us 


Fiod  Hundred  Dollars.  7 

I'ousiDa,"  he  aiiiivvered.  "Percy  Marlowe  is  a 
boy  who  thinks  a  good  deal  of  himself.  He 
puts  on  no  end  of  airs." 

"  Like  his  father  before  him.  Is  he  a  smart 
boy?" 

"  Do  you  mean  in  his  studies?  " 

"  Yes.'" 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  could  do  if  he  tried, 
but  he  doesn't  exert  himself  much.  He  says 
it  isn't  necessary  for  him,  as  his  father  is  a 
rich  man."' 

"How  is  it  with  you?" 

"  I  only  wish  I  had  his  chance,"  said  Bert, 
warmly.  "  I  am  fond  of  study,  but  I  am  poor, 
and  must  work  for  a  living." 

"  You  have  the  right  idea,  and  he  has  not," 
said  the  old  man,  sententiously. 

At  this  moment  a  light  buggy  was  driven 
swiftly  by.  Seated  in  it  was  a  boy  about  the 
age  of  Bert,  apparently,  but  of  slighter  figure. 
The  horse,  suddenly  spying  the  old  man,  shied, 
and  in  a  trice  the  buggy  was  upset,  and  the 
young  dude  went  sprawling  on  the  ground. 

Bert  grasped  the  situation,  and  sprang  to 
the  rescue.  He  seized  the  terrified  horse, 
while  the  old  man  helped  reverse  the  carriage, 
which  fortunately  had  not  met  with  any  ma- 
terial damage.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the 
young  driver  who,  with  mortified  face,  strug- 


8  Five  Hundred  DollarSo 

gled  to  his  feet,  and  surveyed  ruefully  tht? 
muddy  stains  on  his  handsome  suit. 

"  I  hope  you're  not, hurt,  Percy,"  said  Bert, 
"with  solicitude. 

"  I've  spoiled  my  suit,  that's  all,"  returned 
Percy,  shortly.  "  What  made  you  scare  my 
horse?  " 

"  I  didn't,"  answered  Bert,  with  spirit. 
"  What  right  have  you  to  charge  me  with 
such  a  thing?  " 

"  Then  if  it  wasn't  you,  it  was  that  old 
tramp  you  were  talking  with,"  persisted  Percy, 
sullenly. 

"  Hush,  Percy ! "  said  Bert,  apprehensive 
lest  the  old  man's  feelings  might  be  hurt. 
"  You  don't  know  who  this'  gentleman  is." 

"  I  never  met  the  gentleman  before,"  re- 
joined Percy,  with  ironical  deference. 

"  Then  let  me  introduce  him  as  your  uncle, 
Jacob  Marlowe,  from  California !  " 

Percy's  face  betrayed  much  more  surprise 
than  pleasure  as  he  stammered,  "  Is  that 
true?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  old  man,  smiling 
calmly ;  "  I  have  the  honor  to  be  related  to 
you,  young  /gentleman." 

"  Does  father  know  you  are  here?  " 

"  No ;  I  am  going  to  call  upon  him." 

Percy  hardly  knew  what  to  think.     He  h-ad 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  9 

heard  his  father  speak  of  "  Uncle  Jacob"  and 
indulge  in  the  hope  that  he  had  accumulated  a 
fortune  in  California.  His  shabby  attire  did 
not  suggest  wealth,  certainly,  but  Percy  was 
wise  enough  to  know  that  appearances  are  not 
always  to  be  relied  upon.  If  this  old  man 
were  wealthy,  he  would  be  worth  propitiating. 
At  any  rate,  till  he  knew  to  the  contrary  he 
had  better  be  polite. 

"  Will  you  ride  to  the  house  with  me,  sir?" 
he  asked,  considerably  to  Bert's  surprise. 

"  No,  thank  you.  There  might  be  another 
upset.  Jump  into  the  buggy,  and  I'll  walk 
along  after  you." 

Percy  was  relieved  by  this  decision,  for  he 
had  no  wish  to  be  seen  with  such  a  companion. 

"All  right,  sir,"  he. said.  "I'll  see  you  at 
the  house." 

Without  a  word  of  acknowledgment  to  Bert, 
Percy  sprang  into  the  buggy  and  drove  rapidly 
away. 

"  Shall  I  go  with  you,  Uncle  Jacob?  "  asked 
Bert. 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  can  find  the  way.  Tell 
your  mother  that  I  will  call  on  her  very  soon." 


lo  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

CHAPTER  II. 

UNCLE  JACOB'S  RECEPTION. 

Percy  found  his  father  at  home,  and 
quickly  acquainted  him  with  the  arrival  in 
town  of  Uncle  Jacob.  His  news  was  received 
with  interest  by  Squire  Marlowe. 

"  Why  didn't  you  invite  him  to  ride  home 
with  you?"  asked  the  squire. 

"  I  did ;  but  he  preferred  to  walk." 

"  What  does  he  look  like?  " 

"  Like  an  old  tramp,"  answered  Percy. 

Squire  Marlowe  was  taken  aback;  for,  with- 
out having  received  any  definite  intelligence 
from  the  long  absent  relative,  he  had  somehow 
persuaded  himself  that  Uncle  Jacob  had  accu- 
mulated a  fortune  at  the  mines. 

"  Then  he  is  shabbily  dressed? "  said  the 
squire,  inquiringly. 

"  I  should  say  so.  I  say,  father,  I  thought 
he  was  rich.     You  always  said  so." 

"  And  I  still  think  so." 

"  Then  why  don't  he  dress  better?  " 

"  He  is  rather  eccentric,  Percy ;  and  these 
California  miners  don't  care  much  for  dress  as 
a  rule.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  were  worth 
half  a  million.     You'd  better  treat  him  with 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  ii 

attention,  for  we  are  bis  natural  heirs,  and 
there's  no  telling  what  may  happen." 

"  Enough  said,  father.  I  don't  care  how  he 
dresses  if  he's  got  the  cash." 

"  I  must  go  and  speak  to  your  mother,  or 
she  will  treat  him  coldly.  You  know  how 
particular  she  is." 

Squire  Marlowe  managed  to  drop  a  hint  to 
his  wife,  who  was  as  worldly  wise  as  himself, 
and  saw  the  advantage  of  being  attentive  to  a 
w^ealthy  relative. 

By  this  time  Uncle  Jacob  had  reached  the 
door. 

Squire  Marlowe  himself  answered  the  bell, 
as  a  mark  of  special  attention,  and  gazed  with 
curiosity  at  the  old  man. 

Jacob  Marlowe,  though  coarsely  clad,  was 
scrupulously  neat  and  clean,  and  there  was  a 
pleasant  smile  on  his  bronzed  face  as  he  recog- 
nized his  nephew. 

"  I  believe  you  are  Uncle  Jacob,"  said  the 
squire,  affably. 

"  Yes,  Albert,  and  I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  a 
relation.  It's  twenty-five  years  since  I  have 
seen  one  that  was  kin  to  me." 

"  Welcome  to  Lakeville,  Uncle  Jacob.  I  am 
glad  to  see  you.  Percy  told  me  he  met  you  on 
the  road.     Why  didn't  you  ride  up  with  him?  " 

"It  wasn't  worth  gettin'  in  to  ride  a  quarter 


12  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

of  a  mile.  I  am  used  to  exercise  in  Cali- 
fornia." 

"  To  be  sure.  Come  into  the  house,  and  lay 
your  valise  down  anywhere.  Here  is  my  wife, 
Mrs.  Marlowe.  Julia,  this  is  Uncle  Jacob,  of 
whom  you  have  heard  me  speak  so  often." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Marlowe,"  said 
the  lady,  formally,  just  touching  the  old  man's 
hand. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  put  Uncle  Jacob, 
Julia?  "  asked  the  squire. 

"  You  may  take  him  to  the  blue  room,"  said 
Mrs.  Marlowe,  in  a  tone  of  hesitation. 

This  blue  room  was  the  handsomest  chamber 
in  the  house,  and  was  assigned  to  those  whom 
it  was  considered  politic  to  honor. 

"  Come  right  upstairs.  Uncle  Jacob.  I'll 
show  you  your  room  myself,"  said  Albert 
Marlowe. 

"  I  ain't  used  to  such  luxury,  Albert,"  said 
the  old  man,  as  he  gazed  around  the  comfort- 
ably appointed  apartment.  "  You  ought  to 
see  my  cabin  at  Murphy's  diggings.  I  reckon 
your  servant  would  turn  up  her  nose  at  it." 

"  I  know  you  don't  care  much  for  style  in 
California,  uncle." 

"  No,  we  don't,  though  we've  got  as  hand- 
some houses    in    'Frisco    as    anywhere    else. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  13 

Why,  Albert,  this  room  is  fine  enough  for  a 
prince." 

"  Then  you  can  think  yourself  a  prince,'' 
said  the  squire,  genially.  "  Now,  if  you  want 
to  wash  your  face  and  hands,  and  arrange 
your  toilet,  you  will  have  abundant  time  before 
dinner.     Come  down  when  you  have  finished." 

Albert  Marlowe  returned  to  his  wife. 

"  Mr.  Marlowe,"  said  she,  "  are  you  very 
sure  that  old  man  is  rich?" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  Julia." 

"  But  what  an  old  fright  he  is !  Why,  he 
looks  dreadfully  common,  and  his  clothes  are 
wretchedly  shabby." 

"  True,  Julia ;  but  you  must  remember 
miners  are  not  very  particular  about  their 
dress." 

"  I  should  think  not,  if  he  is  a  fair  specimen. 
It  makes  me  shudder  to  think  of  his  occupy- 
ing the  blue-room.  The  hall  bedroom  on  the 
third  floor  would  have  been  good  enough  for 
him." 

"  Remember,  my  dear,  he  is  in  all  probabil- 
ity very  weathy,  and  we  are  his  heirs.  I  am 
not  so  well  off  as  people  imagine,  and  it  will 
be  a  great  thing  for  us  to  have  a  fortune  of  a 
quarter  or  half  a  million  drop  in  by  and  by." 

"  There's  something  in  that,  to  be  sure,"  the 


14  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

lady  admitted.  "  But  can't  you  induce  him 
to  wear  better  clothes?  " 

"  I  will  suggest  it  very  soon.  We  mustn't 
be  too  precipitate,  for  fear  he  should  take 
offense.  You  know  these  rich  uncles  expect  to 
be  treated  with  a  good  deal  of  consideration." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  expect  to  live  with 
us?  I  shall  really  give  up  if  I  have  got  to  have 
such  a  looking  old  tramp  as  a  permanent  mem- 
ber of  the  familj^" 

"  But,  Julia,  if  he  is  really  very  rich,  it  is 
important  for  us  to  keep  him  strictly  in  view. 
You  know  there  will  be  plenty  of  designing 
persons,  who  will  be  laying  snares  to  entrap 
him,  and  get  possession  of  his  money." 

"  How  old  is  he?     Is  he  likely  to  live  long?" 

"  I  think  he  must  be  about  sixty-five." 

"  And  he  looks  alarmingly  healthy,"  said 
Mrs.  Marlowe,  with  a  sigh. 

"  His  father  died  at  sixty-seven." 

Mrs.  Marlowe  brightened  up.  "  That  is  en- 
couraging," she  said,  hopefully. 

"  I  don't  think  he  looks  so  very  healthy," 
added  the  squire. 

"  He  has  a  good  color." 

"  His  father  was  the  picture  of  health  till 
within  a  few  weeks  of  his  death." 

"What  did  he  die  of?" 

^"'  Apoplexy." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  15 

"  To  be  sure.  The  old  man  looks  as  if  he 
might  go  off  that  way." 

"  In  that  case  we  should  only  need  to  be 
troubled  with  him  a  couple  of  years,  and  for 
that  we  should  be  richly  repaid." 

"  They  will  seem  like  two  eternities," 
groaned  the  lady,  "  and  the  chief  burden  will 
come  on  me." 

"  You  shall  be  repaid,  my  dear !  Only  treat 
him  well !  " 

"Will  you  give  me  half  what  money  he 
leaves  to  us?  " 

"  Say  one-third,  Julia.  That  will  repay  you 
richly  for  all  your  trouble." 

"  Very  well !  Let  it  be  a  third.  But,  Mr. 
Marlowe,  don't  let  there  be  any  mistake!  I 
depend  upon  you  to  find  out  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible how  much  money  the  old  man  has." 

"  Trust  to  me,  Julia.  I  am  just  as  anxious 
to  know  as  you  are." 

In  twenty  minutes  Uncle  Jacob  came  down 
stairs.  He  had  done  what  he  could  to  improve 
his  appearance,  or  "  slick  himself  up,"  as  he 
expressed  it,  and  wore  a  blue  coat  and  vest, 
each  provided  with  brass  buttons.  But  from 
close  packing  in  his  valise  both  were  creased 
up  in  such  a  manner  that  Squire  Marlowe  and 
his  wife  shuddered,  and  Percy's  face  wore  aa 
amused  and  supercilious  smile. 


i6  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  I  declare  I  feel  better  to  be  dressed  up," 
said  the  old  man.  "  How  long  do  you  think 
I've  had  this  coat  and  vest,  Albert?" 

"  I  really  couldn't  guess." 

"  I  had  it  made  for  me  ten  years  ago  in 
Sacramento.  It  looks  pretty  well,  but  then 
I've  only  worn  it  for  best." 

Percy  had  to  stuff  his  handkerchief  in  his 
mouth  to  repress  a  laugh.  Uncle  Jacob  re- 
garded him  with  a  benevolent  smile,  and 
seemed  himself  to  be  amused  about  something. 

"  Now,  Uncle  Jacob,  we'll  sit  down  to  din- 
ner.    You  must  be  hungry." 

"  Well,  I  have  got  a  fairish  appetite.  What 
a  nice  eatin'  room  you've  got,  Albert.  I  ain't 
used  to  such  style." 

"  I  presume  not,"  said  Mrs.  Marlowe,  dryly. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  VISIT  TO  THE  FACTORY. 

During  dinner  the  old  man  chatted  away  in 
the  frankest  manner,  but  not  a  word  did  he 
let  drop  as  to  his  worldly  circumstances.  He 
appeared  to  enjoy  his  dinner,  and  showed  him- 
self entirely  at  his  ease. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  17 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  so  well  fixed,  Albert," 
he  said.     "  You've  got  a  fine  home." 

"  It  will  do  very  well,"  returned  the  squire, 
modestly. 

"  I  suppose  he  never  was  in  such  a  good 
house  before,"  thought  Mrs.  Marlowe. 

"  By  the  way,  just  before  I  fell  in  with  you 
here,"  went  on  Jacob,  "  I  ran  across  Mary's 
boy." 

"  Herbert  Barton  ?  "  suggested  the  squire, 
with  a  slight  frown. 

"  Yes ;  he  said  that  w^as  his  name." 

"  They  live  in  the  village,"  said  his  nephew, 
shortly. 

"  They're  poor,  ain't  they?  " 

"Yes;  Barton  was  not  a  forehanded  man. 
He  didn't  know  how  to  accumulate  money." 

"  I  suppose  he  left  very  little  to  his  widow." 

"  Very  little.  However,  I  have  given  the 
boy  a  place  in  my  factory,  and  I  believe  his 
mother  earns  a  trifle  by  covering  base-balls. 
They  don't  want  for  anything — that  is,  any- 
thing in  reason. 

"  Bert  Barton  seems  a  likely  boy." 

"  Oh,  he's  as  good  as  the  average  of  boys  in 
his  position." 

"  I  suppose  he  c^d  Percy  are  quite  intimate, 
being  cousins." 

"  Indeed  we  are  not ! "  returned  Percy,  toss- 


i8  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

ing  his  head.  "  His  position  is  very  different 
from  mine." 

Uncle  Jacob  surveyed  Percy  in  innocent 
wonder. 

"  Still,  he's  kin  to  you,"  he  observed. 

"  That  doesn't  always  count,"  said  Percy. 
"  He  has  his  friends,  and  I  have  mine.  I 
don't  believe  in  mixing  classes." 

"  I  expect  things  have  changed  since  I  was 
a  boy,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  mildly.  "  Then,  all 
the  boys  were  friendly  and  sociable,  no  matter 
whether  they  were  rich  or  poor." 

"I  agree  with  Percy,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Mar- 
lowe, stiffly.  "  His  position  in  life  will  be  very 
different  from  that  of  the  boy  you  refer  to. 
Any  early  intimacy,  even  if  we  encouraged  it, 
could  not  well  be  kept  up  in  after-life." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  I've  been  away  so  long  at  the  mines  that  I 
haven't  kept  up  with  the  age  or  the  fashions." 

Percy  smiled,  as  his  glance  rested  on  his 
uncle's  creased  suit,  and  he  felt  quite  ready  to 
agree  with  what  he  said. 

"  I  was  thinkin'  how  pleasant  it  would  be  if 
you  would  invite  Mary  and  her  boy  to  tea — 
we  are  all  related,  you  know.  We  could  talk 
over  old  times  and  scenes,  and  have  a  real 
social  time." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  19 

Mrs.  Marlowe  seemed  horror-struck  at  the 
suggestion. 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  be  convenient,"  she 
said,  coldly. 

"  It  would  be  better  for  you  to  see  Mrs. 
Barton  at  her  own  house,"  put  in  the  squire, 
hastily. 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  would." 

"  By  the  way,  Uncle  Jacob,  I  hope  your  ex- 
periences of  California  are  pleasant,"  insinu- 
ated Squire  Marlowe. 

"  They're  mixed,  Albert.  I've  had  my  ups 
and  downs." 

"  I  have  heard  of  large  fortunes  being  made 
there,"  pursued  the  squire.  "  I  suppose  there's 
8ome  truth  in  what  we  hear?  " 

"  To  be  sure !  Why,  ten  years  from  the 
time  I  went  to  the  mines  I  had  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  deposited  to  my  credit  in  a 
Sacramento  bank." 

Squire  Marlowe's  eyes  sparkled  with  pleas- 
ure. It  was  just  what  he  had  been  hoping  to 
find  out.  So  Uncle  Jacob  was  rich,  after  all  I 
The  squire's  manner  became  even  more  gra- 
cious, and  he  pressed  upon  his  relative  another 
plate  of  ice  cream. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Albert,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  I'm  used  to  plain  livin'.  It  isn't  often  I  sit 
down  to  a  meal  like  this.    Do  you  know,  there's 


20  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

nothing  snits  me    bettor    than    a    dinner    of 
corned  beef  and  cabbage." 

"  How  vulgar  the  old  man  is !  "  thought  Mrs. 
Marlowe.  "  He  may  have  money,  but  his 
tastes  are  very  common." 

"  We  never  have  corned  beef  and  cabbage 
here,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  shudder. 

"  Very  likely  Bert  Barton's  mother  has  it 
very  often,"  suggested  Percy. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  squire,  urbanely,  "  if 
Uncle  Jacob  really  enjoys  those  dishes  so 
much,  you  might  provide  them  for  his  special 
use." 

"  I  will  think  of  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Marlowe, 
shortly. 

Now  that  Uncle  Jacob  had  hinted  at  the 
possession  of  wealth,  Squire ,  Marlowe  beheld 
him  as  one  tranfigured.  He  was  no  longer  a 
common,  shabby  old  man,  but  a  worthy  old 
gentleman  of  eccentric  ideas  in  the  matter  of 
wardrobe  and  manners. 

"  I  wonder  if  Uncle  Jacob  wouldn't  advance 
me  twenty-five  thousand  dollars,"  was  the 
thought  that  was  passing  through  his  mind  as 
he  gazed  genially  at  his  countrified  guest.  "  It 
'..ould  help  me  amazingly  in  my  business,  and 
enable  me  to  do  double  as  much.  I  will  men- 
tion it  to  him  in  good  time." 

^^  I've  a  great  mind  to  come  upon  the  old 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  21 

man  for  a  handsome  birthday  present," 
thought  Percy.  "  Fifty  dollars  wouldn't  be 
much  for  him  to  give.  I  shan't  get  more  than 
a  fiver  from  the  governor." 

"  Uncle  Jacob,"  said  the  squire,  as  they  rose 
from  the  table,  "  suppose  you  walk  over  to  the 
factory  with  me;  I  should  like  you  to  see  it." 

"  Nothing  would  please  me  better,"  said 
Jacob  Marlowe,  briskly. 

"Will  you  come  along,  Percy?"  asked  his 
father. 

"  No,  papa,"  answered  Percy,  with  a  grim- 
ace, "  You  know  I  don't  like  the  smell  of 
leather." 

"  /  ought  not  to  dislike  it,"  said  the  squire, 
with  a  smile,  "  for  it  gives  me  a  very  handsome 
income." 

"  Oh,  it's  different  with  you,"  returned 
Percy.  "  Just  give  me  the  profits  of  the  fac- 
tory and  I'll  go  there  every  day." 

"  He's  a  sharp  one ! "  said  the  squire,  with 
a  smile.  * 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  too  sharp  to  suit  me," 
thought  Uncle  Jacob.  "  It  seems  to  me  the 
boy's  mind  runs  upon  money,  and  his  own  in- 
terests." 

The  shoe  factory  was  a  large  building  of  two 
stories,  and  within  it  was  a  hive  of  industry. 

As  the  squire  led  the  way  he  explained  the 


25  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

various  workings  to  the  old  man,  who  was 
really  curious  and  interested.  It  was  on  a 
larger  scale  than  was  common  at  the  time  he 
left  for  California,  and  the  use  of  machinery 
had  to  a  greater  extent  supplemented  and 
superseded  the  work  of  the  hands. 

Finally  they  came  to  a  room  where  several 
boys  were  pegging  shoes,  for  this  work  was 
still  done  in  the  old-fashioned  way.  Uncle 
Jacob's  eyes  lighted  up  when  in  one  of  them 
he  recognized  Bert  Barton. 

He  hurried  forward,  and  put  his  hand  on 
Bert's  shoulder. 

"  So  this  is  your  business,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Bert,  with  a  smile. 

"Do  you  find  it  hard  work?" 

"  Oh,  no !  That  is,  I  am  used  to  it.  It  used 
to  tire  me  at  first." 

"  Did  you  tell  your  mother  I  was  in  town?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Bert,  "  and  she  says  she 
hopes  you  will  call." 

"  To  be  sure  I  will.  I  may  cal?  this  even- 
ing." 

"  He's  a  likely  boy,  Albert,"  said  Uncle 
Jacob,  rejoining  the  squire,  who  stood  aloof 
with  a  look  of  annoyance  on  his  face. 

"  He  works  very  well,  I  believe,"  was  the 
cold  reply.     "Shall  we  move  on?" 

"  Albert  doesn't  seem  to  feel  much  interest 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  23 

in  his  poor  relations,"  thought  Uncle  Jacob. 
"  Well,  it's  human  nature,  I  suppose." 

"  You  seem  to  be  doing  a  large  business,  Al- 
bert," he  said  aloud. 

"  Yes;  but  with  a  little  more  capital  I  could 
very  much  increase  it,"  rejoined  the  squire. 
"  With  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  now,  I 
would  enlarge  the  factory  to  double  its  present 
size,  and  do  twice  the  business  I  am  now  do- 
ing." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  want  to  get  rich  too  fast, 
Albert." 

"  It  would  gratify  my  spirit  of  enterprise, 
Uncle  Jacob.  I  feel  that  I  have  the  ability  to 
make  a  big  business  success." 

"  Very  likely,  Albert.  I've  seen  enough  to 
convince  me  of  that." 

"  He'll  lend  me  the  money  if  I  work  things 
right,"  Squire  Marlowe  said  to  himself. 
"  He'll  be  like  wax  in  my  hands." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

UNCLE  JACOB'S  STARTLING  REVELATION. 

"  Uncle  Jacob  was  at  the  factory  this 
afternoon,"  said  Bert  to  his  mother,  when  he 
went  home.  "  He  says  he  may  call  here  this 
evening." 


24  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  I  hope  he  will.  He  was  my  poor  mother's 
favorite  brother  —  always  kind  and  good- 
hearted.     How  is  he  looking,  Bert?  " 

"  He  seems  in  good  health  for  an  old  man. 
His  face  is  browned  up,  as  if  he  had  been  out 
in  the  open  air  a  good  deal." 

"  I  hope  he  has.  It  is  twenty-five  years 
since  he  went  to  California.  Does  he  look  as 
if  he  had  prospered?" 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  poor,  mother,  for  al- 
though his  clothing  is  neat  and  clean,  it  is 
plain  and  the  cloth  is  faded?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,  but  I  will  wel- 
come him  none  the  less  warmly.  It  will  in- 
deed seem  like  old  times  to  have  Uncle  Jacob 
in  my  house." 

Meanwhile  Bert  had  been  bringing  in  wood 
and  doing  chores  for  his  mother. 

"  Did  Uncle  Jacob  tell  you  how  long  he  in- 
tended to  stay  in  Lakeville?  " 

"No,  mother;  I  only  had  a  short  time  to 
talk  with  him  when  Percy  rode  by,  and  then 
he  started  to  call  on  the  squire.  Do  you 
know,  mother,  I  am  rather  surprised  that, he 
should  have  been  so  well  received,  poor  as  he 
looks." 

"  I  think  better  of  Albert  for  it.  It  shows 
that  he  is  not  so  worldly  as  I  feared^  Cer- 
tainly Uncle  Jacob  ought  to  be  well  received 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  25 

by  Albert  Marlowe,  for  when  Albert's  father 
was  in  trouble  Jacob  lent  him  five  hundped 
dollars — all  in  money  he  had — and  I  feel 
sure  the  money  has  not  been  repaid  to  him  to 
this  day." 

"  I  don't  think  Percy  will  be  very  cordial. 
You  know  what  high  notions  he  has." 

"  He  gets  them  principally  from  his  mother, 
who  is  extremely  aristocratic  in  her  ideas." 

"  Was  she  of  a  high  family?  " 

Mrs.  Barton  smiled. 

"  Her  father  was  a  fisherman,"  she  replied, 
"  and  when  a  girl  she  used  to  run  barefoot 
on  the  sand.  Later  on  she  sev/ed  straw  for  a 
living.  She  is  no  worse  for  that,  certainly, 
but  it  doesn't  give  her  any  claims  to  aris' 
tocracy." 

"  Do  you  think  Percy  knows  about  his 
mother's  early  life?" 

"  I  presume  she  has  kept  it  secret  from 
him." 

"  I  shall  think  of  it  when  Percy  gets  into 
one  of  his  patronizing  moods." 
,  "  Remember,  Bert,  that  neither  he  nor  his 
mother  is  any  the  worse  for  her  humble  birth." 

"  I  understand  that,  I  hope,  mother,  just  as 
I  don't  feel  ashamed  of  our  being  poor." 

"  As  long  as  we  can  make  an  honorable  liv- 
ing, we  have  no  right  to  complain." 


26  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  That  reminds  me,  mother,  that  I  heard 
''bad  news  at  the  shop  to-day." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  That  the  shop  is  likely  to  be  shut  down  all 
next  month." 

"  Why  is  that? "  asked  Mrs.  Barton,  an 
anxious  look  coming  over  her  face. 

"  I  believe  the  market  is  over-supplied  with 
shoes,  and  it  is  thought  best  to  suspend  tem- 
porarily.    It'll  be  rather  hard  on  me." 

"  Yes,  it  will,"  said  his  mother,  gravely. 
"  I  earn  so  little  at  sewing  balls." 

"  Don't  3^ou  think  I  could  get  a  job  at  that, 
mother?  " 

"  No,  you  could  not  do  the  work  satisfac- 
torily. Besides  there  are  hands  enough  for 
all  that  is  required.  Well,  we  must  hope  for 
the  best." 

"  I  think  I  can  manage  to  earn  something, 
mother,"  said  Bert,  hopefully.  "  I'll  try 
hard,  anyway." 

"  We  w^on't  worry  till  the  time  comes,  Bert." 

An  hour  later  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door.     Mrs.  Barton  answered  it  in  person. 

"Why,  Uncle  Jacob,  is  it  really  you?"  she 
exclaimed,  joyfully. 

"  I'm  delighted  to  see  you,  Mary,"  said  the 
old  man,  his  face  lighting  up.  "  I've  been 
"waiting  twenty-five  years  for  this  meeting." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  27 

"  Come  right  in,  Uncle  Jacob.  I  can  hardly 
belicTe  it  is  really  you.  Now  tell  me  why  you 
have  not  written  these  many  years." 

"  I've  no  good  excuse,  Mary,  but  perhaps  I 
shall  think  of  one  bimeby.  Now  tell  me  how 
you  are  getting  along?  " 

"  I  am  not  rich,  as  you  can  see,  Uncle 
Jacob;  but  as  long  as  Bert  and  I  have  our 
health,  and  work  to  do,  I  shall  be  contented." 

"  Do  you  know,  Mary,"  said  Jacob  Mar- 
lowe, looking  about  the  plain  little  sitting- 
room,  "  I  like  your  house  better  than  Al- 
bert's?" 

"  I  don't  think  you  will  find  many  to  agree 
with  you." 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  this  seems  like  home, 
and  that  doesn't." 

"  Albert's  house  is   finely   furnished." 

"  True,  and  he  lives  in  fine  style ;  but  I  don't 
think  I  should  ever  be  contented  to  live  with 
him." 

"  Has  he  invited  you?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Jacob;  "but,"  he  added, 
with  a  smile,  "  I  don't  think  the  invitation 
will  hold  good  after  to-morrow." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  The  fact  is,  Albert  and  the  whole  family 
think  I  am  rich." 


28  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

s  "  I  shouldn't  think  they  would  judge  that 
from  your  appearance," 

"  Oh,  they  think  I  am  eccentric  and  plain  in 
iry  tastes,  and  that  I've  got  my  pile  safe  some- 
where." 

"  I  wish  you  had,  Uncle  Jacob." 

"  Happiness  doesn't  depend  on  money, 
Mary,  as  you  realize  in  your  own  case.  I  am 
an  old  man,  to  be  sure,  but  I  am  well  and 
strong,  and  able  to  work  for  a  living." 

"  But  at  your  age.  Uncle  Jacob,  it  would  be 
comfortable  to  feel  that  you  could  rest." 

"  Come,  Mary,  don't  make  me  out  a  patri- 
arch. I'm  only  sixty-five,  and  I  can  tackle  a 
pretty  good  day's  work  yet." 

"  You  might  be  sick,  Uncle  Jacob." 

"  Don't  let  us  imagine  unpleasant  things, 
Mary.    I  don't  mean  to  be  sick." 

"  And  at  any  rate  you  can  come  and  stay 
with  us.  You  will  always  find  a  home  here, 
though  an  humble  one." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that,  Mary? "  said 
Uncle  Jacob,  earnestly.  "  Would  you  really 
be  willing  to  take  in  the  old  man,  and  provide 
for  his  comforts?" 

"  Of  course  I  would,  Uncle  Jacob,"  answered 
Mrs.  Barton,  heartily.  "  I  hope  you  didn't 
think  so  poorly  of  me  as  to  doubt  it." 

"  No,   I   was  sure  you  hadn't  changed  so 


Five  Hundred  Dollars,  29 

much  since  you  were  a  girl.  Well,  Mary,  I 
may  some  time  remind  you  of  your  promise." 

"  You  won't  need  to  remind  me,  Uncle 
Jacob.  I  was  afraid  Albert  would  take  you 
wholly  away  from  us." 

"  So  he  might  if  I  were  as  rich  as  he  thinks 
I  am ;  but  now  let  us  talk  about  other  things. 
Remember,  I  haven't  heard  any  family  news 
for  many  years,  and  I  have  a  great  many  ques- 
tions to  ask." 

The  rest  of  the  evening  was  spent  in  such 
conversation  as  Uncle  Jacob  suggested,  and 
when  he  had  occasion  to  look  at  his  watch, 
he  started  in  surprise. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It  is 
nearly  ten  o'clock.  I  ought  to  be  getting  back 
to  Albert's." 

"  Then  Bert  shall  accompany  you  as  far  as 
the  house.     It  will  be  lonely  to  go  alone." 

Uncle  Jacob  reached  Squire  Marlowe's 
house  as  the  church  clock  struck  ten,  and  he 
bade  Bert  good-night. 

Shortly  after  his  return,  Uncle  Jacob  was 
shown  to  his  room,  and  being  fatigued  he  soon 
fell  asleep,  not  waking  till  seven  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

After  breakfast.  Squire  Marlowe  said 
graciously:  *^  Have  you  any  plans,  Uncle 
Jacob,  in  which   I   can  assist  you?     If  you 


30  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

would  like  to  consult  me  about  any  invest- 
^-ments,  I  can  perhaps  be  of  service  to  you." 

"  Now  for  it !  "  thought  the  old  man. 

"  I  was  thinkin',  Albert,"  he  said,  "  of  ask- 
in'  your  advice.  I'm  gettin'  on  in  years,  and 
can't  work  as  well  as  I  could  once.  Do  you 
think  it  would  pay  me  to  open  here  in  Lake- 
ville  a  cigar  and  candy  store,  and " 

"What!"  exclaimed  Squire  Marlowe,  with 
an  expression  of  horror  and  disgust  on  his 
face. 

"  You  see  I've  got  about  five  hundred  dol- 
lars, w^hich  I  think  would  be  enough  to  stock  it 
comfortably  and " 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  a  rich  man," 
gasped  Squire  Marlowe.  "  Didn't  you  tell  me 
you  had  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  a 
Sacramento  bank?  " 

"  Yes,  many  years  ago;  but  I  bought  mining 
stocks,  and  after  a  while  they  went  down  to 
nothing,  and " 

"  Then  you  are  a  pauper ! "  said  the  squire, 
harshly. 

"  No.  I  have  five  hundred  dollars,  and  I 
hope  with  that  to  get  started,  so  as  to  earn  an 
honest  living." 

Words  cannot  describe  the  scorn  and  dis- 
gust that  appeared  on  the  faces  of  Percy  and 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  31 

his  mother  at  the  old  man's  confession  of 
poverty. 

"  Albert,"  said  the  wife,  "  may  I  speak  with 
you  outside  a  moment?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear." 

"  Get  rid  of  the  old  man  as  soon  as  you 
can ! "  she  said,  imperiously.  He  doesn't 
eat  another  meal  in  my  house!" 

"  Be  easy,  my  dear,"  said  the  squire.  "  I'll 
manage  it." 


CHAPTER  V. 

UNCLE    JACOB    RECEIVES    HIS    WALKING    PAPERS. 

Squire  Marlowe  returned  to  the  breakfast 
room,  wearing  rather  an  embarrassed  expres- 
sion. Percy  had  followed  his  mother,  and  the 
old  man  found  himself  for  a  short  time  alone. 
There  was  a  twinkle  of  amusement  in  his  eyes, 
which  vanished  on  the  reappearance  of  his 
nephew. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  left  you  alone,  Uncle 
Jacob,"  said  the  squire,  civilly. 

"  Oh,  don't  treat  me  with  any  ceremony, 
Albert.  Being  as  we  are  such  near  relations, 
we  ought  to  be  free  and  easy  like." 


32  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  for  I  shall  be 
Obliged  to  treat  you  unceremoniously." 

"  Eh?  "  said  Uncle  Jacob,  inquiringly. 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  my  wife,  who  is  of  a 
very  delicate  organization,  is  taken  suddenly 
ill,  and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to 
fi^Mt  your  visit  short,  and  come  again  some 
other  time." 

"  I'm  surprised  to  hear  that,  Albert.  I 
thought  Mrs.  Marlowe  looked  in  excellent 
health." 

"  You  can't  always  tell  by  outward  ap- 
pearances. She  is  subject  to  severe  head- 
aches, and  in  that  condition  can't  bear  the 
least  noise  or  excitement.  That  is  why  I 
can't  invite  you  to  stay  any  longer." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  with — it 
might  have  been — a  little  significance  in  his 
tone. 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  went  on  the  squire, 
"  that  Mrs.  Barton  will  be  glad  to  have  you 
pay  her  a  short  visit.  I  will  get  Percy  to 
drive  you  down  there." 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  the  old  man,  dryly, 
"  but  it's  only  a  little  way,  and  I  don't  mind 
walking." 

"  Just  as  you  prefer,"  said  the  squire,  re- 
lieved by  Uncle  Jacob's  declination  of  his  of- 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  33 

fer,  for  he  knew  that  Percy  would  not  enjoy 
the  trip. 

"  I'll  get  ready  to  go  at  once,  Albert.  Oh, 
about  my  plan  of  opening  a  cigar  store  in 
Lakeville?" 

"  I  cannot  advise  you  to  do  it,"  rejoined  the 
squire,  hastily.  "  You  Avouldn't  make  enough 
to  pay  your  rent,  or  not  much  more." 

"  Don't  the  men  in  your  factory  smoke? 
There's  a  good  many  of  them.  If  I  could  get 
their  trade " 

"  They  smoke  pipes  for  the  most  part,"  said 
the  squire,  hurriedly.  "  They'd  find  cigars 
too  expensive." 

"  I  meant  to  combine  candy  with  cigars. 
That  would  be  a  help." 

"  They  keep  candy  at  the  grocery  store. 
Uncle  Jacob." 

"  I  see  there  isn't  much  show  for  me.  Now 
if  I  only  understood  your  business,  you  could 
give  me  something  to  do  in  the  factory,  Al- 
bert." 

"  But  you  don't,  and,  in  fact.  Uncle  Jacob, 
it's  too  hard  work  for  a  man  of  your  age." 

"  Then  what  would  you  advise  me  to  do, 
Albert?"  asked  the  old  man,  earnestly. 

Squire  Marlowe  assumed  a  thoughtful  look. 
In  fact,  he  was  jtuzzled  to  decide  how  best  to 
get  rid  of  the  troublesome  old  man.     To  have 


34  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

him  remain  in  Lakeville  was  not  to  be  thought 
of.  He  would  gladly  have  got  rid  of  Mrs. 
Barton  and  her  son,  whose  relationship  to  his 
family  was  unfortunately  known,  but  there 
seemed  to  be  no  way  clear  to  that  without  the 
expenditure  of  money.  To  have  Uncle  Jacob 
for  a  neighbor,  in  addition,  would  be  a  source 
of  mortification,  not  only  to  himself,  but  even 
more  to  his  wife  and  Percy,  w^hose  aristocratic 
ideas  he  well  knew. 

"  I  think  you  told  me  you  had  five  hundred 
dollars,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  About  that." 

"  Then  I  really  think  it  would  be  the  best 
thing  you  could  do  to  go  back  to  California, 
where  you  are  known,  and  where  you  can 
doubtless  obtain  some  humble  employment 
which  will  supply  your  moderate  wants.  It 
won't  cost  you  much  for  dress " 

"  No,  Albert ;  this  coat  and  vest  will,  do  me 
for  best  five  years  longer." 

"  Just  so !  That  is  fortunate.  So  you  see 
you've  only  got  your  board  to  pay." 

"  I  might  get  sick,"  suggested  Uncle  Jacob, 
doubtfully. 

"  You  look  pretty  healthy.  Besides,  you'll 
have  part  of  your  five  hundred  dollars  left, 
you  know." 

"  That's  so !     What  a  good  calculator  you 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  35 

are,  Albert !  Besides,  if  things  came  to  the 
worst,  there's  that  five  hundred  dollars  I  lent 
your  father  twenty-seven  years  ago.  No  doubt 
you'd  pay  me  back,  and " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  refer  to,"  said 
Squire  Marlowe,  coldly. 

"  Surely  you  haven't  forgot  the  time  when 
your  father  was  so  driven  for  money,  when 
you  were  a  lad  of  fifteen,  and  I  let  him  have 
all  I  had  except  about  fifty  dollars  that  I  kept 
for  a  rainy  day." 

"  This  is  news  to  me.  Uncle  Jacob,'"'  said  the 
squire,  with  a  chilling  frown.  "  You  must 
excuse  me  for  saying  that  I  think  you  labor 
under  a  delusion." 

Uncle  Jacob  surveyed  his  neighbor  intently, 
with  a  gaze  which  disconcerted  him  in  spite  of 
his  assurance. 

"  Fortunately,  I  am  able  to  prove  what  I 
say,"  he  rejoined,  after  a  slight  pause. 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  wallet  which 
bore  the  signs  of  long  wear,  and,  opening  it, 
deliberately  drew  out  a  folded  sheet  of  note 
paper,  grown  yellow  with  age  and  brittle  with 
much  handling.  Then,  adjusting  his  spec- 
tacles, he  added :  "  Here's  something  I'd  like 
to  read  to  you,  Albert.  It's  written  by  your 
father : 


36  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

My  Dear  Jacob: 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  to  you 
for  lending  me  the  five  hundred  dollars  I  so 
urgently  need.  I  know  it  is  very  nearly,  if 
not  quite,  all  you  possess  in  the  world,  and 
that  you  can  ill  spare  it.  It  will  save  me  from 
failure,  and  sometime  I  hope  to  repay  it  to 
you.  If  I  cannot,  I  will  ask  my  son  Albert  to 
do  so  when  he  is  able.  I  don't  want  you  to 
lose  by  your  kindness  to  me. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

Charles  Marlowe. 

"  You  can  see  the  signature,  Albert.  You 
know  your  father's  handwriting,  don't  you?" 

Squire  Marlowe  reluctantly  took  the  paper 
and  glanced  at  it. 

"  It  may  be  my  fathers  writing,"  he  said. 

"  May  be !  "  repeated  the  old  man,  indig- 
nantly.    "What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"  I  dare  say  it  is.  In  fact,  I  remember  his 
mentioning  the  matter  to  me  before  he  died." 

"  What  did  he  say?  " 

"  That  it  was  quite  a  favor  to  him,  the  loan, 
but  that  he  repaid  it  within  three  3'ears  from 
the  time  he  received  it." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Jacob,  pushing 
his  spectacles  up,  in  his  amazement.  "  Your 
father  said  that?" 


Five  Hundred  Dollars,  37 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  answered  Albert  Marlowe, 
with  unabashed  effrontery. 

"  That  he  paid  back  the  five  hundred  dollars 
I  lent  hirn?" 

"  That's  what  I  said,"  repeated  the  squire, 
impatiently. 

"  Then  it's  a  lie — not  of  my  brother's,  but 
of — somebody's.  That  money  remains  unpaid 
to  this  day." 

Squire  Marlowe  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  No  doubt  you  think  so,"  he  said,  "  but  you 
are  growing  old,  and  old  people  are  forgetful. 
That  is  the  most  charitable  view  to  take  of 
your  statement." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  believed  this,  Albert," 
said  the  old  man,  sorrowfully.  "  And  you  a 
rich  man,  too!  I  don't  mind  the  money.  I 
can  get  along  without  it.  But  to  be  told  that 
I  am  claiming  what  has  already  been  repaid !  " 

"  I  don't  lay  it  up  against  you,"  went  on  the 
squire,  smoothly.  "  I've  no  doubt  you  have 
forgotten  the  payment  of  the  debt,  and " 

"  I  don't  forget  so  easily,  though  I  am  sixty- 
five.  Don't  fear  that  I  shall  ask  for  it  again — 
indeed,  I  haven't  asked  for  it  at  all — but  I 
shall  not  forget  how  you  have  treated  my 
claim.  Of  course  it  amounts  to  nothing  in 
law — it's  outlawed  long  ago — but  I  only  wish 


38  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

my  poor  brother  were  alive  to  disprove  your 
words." 

Even  Albert  Marlowe  was  shamed  by  t£e 
old  man's  sorrowful  dignity. 

"  We  can't  agree  about  that,  Uncle  Jacob," 
he  said ;  "  but  if  ever  you  get  very  hard  up,  let 
me  know,  and  I'll  see  if  I  can't  help  you — 
in  a  small  way." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  answered  the  old  man, 
"  but  I  don't  think  that  time  will  come.  As 
you  say,  my  wants  are  few,  and  I  am  still  able 
to  work.  I'll  go  up  to  my  room  and  get  my 
valise,  and  then  I'll  go  over  to  Mary  Bar- 
ton's." 

"  Thank  Heaven !  I've  got  rid  of  him," 
mused  the  squire,  as  from  the  doorway  he  saw 
Uncle  Jacob  walking  slowly  down  the  street. 
"  I  was  afraid  he'd  mention  that  money  he 
lent  father.  With  twenty-seven  years'  inter- 
est it  would  amount  to  a  good  deal  of  money — 
more  than  I  could  well  spare.  I  don't  think 
I  shall  hear  from  it  again." 

"  Has  he  gone,  Albert? "  asked  Mrs.  Mar- 
lowe, returning  to  the  breakfast-room. 

"  Yes ;  I  told  him  you  were  indisposed,  and 
couldn't  stand  excitement." 

"  No  matter  what  you  told  him,  as  long  as 
we  are  rid  of  him." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  39 

CHAPTER    VI. 

SQUIRE  MARLO\YE  IS  SURPRISED. 

Mrs.  Barton  was  washing  the  breakfast 
dishes,  and  was  alone,  Bert  having  gone  to 
his  daily  work  at  the  shoe  shop,  when  the 
outer  door  opened  and  Uncle  Jacob  entered 
the  cottage,  valise  in  hand. 

"  I've  accepted  your  offer  sooner  than  you 
expected,  Mary,"  he  said. 

*"  You  are  heartily  welcome.  Uncle  Jacob," 
responded  his  niece,  with  evident  sincerity. 
"  If  you  can  put  up  with  our  poor  accommoda- 
tions after  being  entertained  in  Albert's  lux- 
urious home " 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  that,  Mary," 
interrupted  the  old  man.  "  Albert  doesn't 
want  me.  He  civilly  asked  me  to  find  another 
stopping  place." 

"  You  don't  mean  it !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bar- 
ton indignantly. 

"  You  see,"  explained  Uncle  Jacob,  with  a 
quiet  smile,  ''  his  wife  was  taken  suddenly  in- 
disposed— after  she  found  I  wasn't  as  rich  as 
she  expected." 

"  I  hope  you  won't  take  it  too  much  to  heart, 
Uncle  Jacob,"  observed  Mary  Barton,  in  a 
tone  of  solicitude. 


40  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Uncle  Jacob's  amused  laugh  reassured  her. 

"  It  is  just  what  I  expected,  Mary,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  shan't  grieve  over  it  much.  You  ought 
to  have  seen  how  they  all  looked  when  I  asked 
Albert's  advice  about  opening  a  small  cigar 
and  candy  store  in  the  village.  You  can 
imagine  what  a  mortification  it  would  be  to 
my  high-toned  nephew  to  have  my  sign  out, 

JACOB  MARLOWE, 
Candy  and  Cigars. 

over  a  small  seven  by  nine  store,  when  our 
relationship  was  known." 

"  I  hope  that  won't  prevent  your  carrying 
out  the  plan.  Uncle  Jacob.  If  your  gains  are 
small,  you  can  make  your  home  with  us  and 
pay  what  you  can  afford." 

"  Thank  you,  Mary,  you  are  a  true  friend, 
and  I  shan't  forget  your  kind  offer.  But  I 
never  had  the  slightest  idea  of  opening  such  a 
store.     I  only  mentioned  it  to  test  Albert." 

"  But  you  will  have  to  do  something.  Uncle 
Jacob,"  said  Mary  Barton,  perplexed ;  "  and 
that  would  be  as  easy  as  anything.  Bert  could 
go  in  the  evening  and  help  you  if  you  found  it 
too  confining." 

"  I  have  something  else  in  view  in  the  city," 
returned  Jacob.  "  I  don't  need  to  earn  much 
you  know.    I  don't  set  up  to  be  a  dude,"  he 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  41 

added,  with  a  comical  glance  at  his  rustic  at- 
tire, "  and  I  don't  mean  to  board  at  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  can't  stay  in  Lakeville," 
said  Mrs.  Barton  regretfully. 

"  I  will  stay  here  a  week,  Mary,  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  you  and  your  boy.  I  have  taken 
a  fancy  to  him.  He  is  a  fine,  manly  youth, 
worth  a  dozen  of  such  fellows  as  Percy  Mar- 
lowe." 

"  Indeed,  he  is  a  good  boy,"  said  his  mother 
proudly.  "  I  don't  see  what  I  could  do  with- 
out him." 

"  So,  Mary,  if  you'll  show  me  where  you  are 
going  to  accommodate  me,  I'll  go  up  and  take 
possession." 

"  Will  you  mind  my  putting  you  in  with 
Bert?    I  have  but  two  chambers." 

"  Not  a  bit.  It  will  be  all  the  better.  If  I 
were  going  to  stay  here  permanently  I  would 
build  an  extension  to  the  house  for  you." 

"  But  that  would  be  expensive,  Uncle 
Jacob." 

"  So  it  would.  I'm  always  forgetting  that 
I  am  not  a  rich  man.  You  see  I  was  rich 
once.  As  I  told  Albert,  I  have  seen  the  time 
when  I  had  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  my 
credit  in  a  bank  of  Sacramento." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Jacob !    Why  didn't  you  invest 


42  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

it  in  government  bonds,  and  you  would  have 
been  independent  for  life?  " 

"  Because  I  was  not  so  prudent  as  my  niece, 
I  suppose.  However,  it's  no  use  crying  over 
spilt  milk,  and  I've  got  a  matter  of  five  hun- 
dred dollars  left." 

"  But  that  won't  last  long.  Uncle  Jacob." 

"  Not  unless  I  Avork.  But  I'm  pretty  rugged 
yet,  and  I  guess  I  can  manage  to  scrape  along." 

When  Bert  came  home  to  dinner,  he  was  sur- 
prised and  pleased  to  find  Uncle  Jacob  in- 
stalled and  evidently  feeling  quite  at  home. 

"  I  wish  I  could  stay  at  home  this  afternoon 
to  keep  you  company,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  have 
only  an  hour  for  dinner." 

*'  Business  first,  my  boy !  "  said  the  old  man. 
"  For  pleasure  we'll  wait  till  this  evening.  Is 
there  a  livery  stable  in  the  village?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  Houghton's." 

"  Then  after  supper  we'll  hire  a  buggy,  and 
you  and  your  mother  and  I  will  take  a  ride." 

"  But,  Uncle  Jacob,  you  forget  that  it  will 
cost  a  dollar,  or  perhaps  two." 

"  No,  I  don't,  Mary ;  but  I'm  having  a  vaca 
tion,  and  I  want  to  enjoy  myself  a  little  be 
fore  pitching  into  hard  work  again.  I  am 
sure  you  will  be  the  better  for  a  ridCo" 

"  Yes,  I  shall.  I  haven't  had  one  for 
months,  and  it  will  be  a  real  treat." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  43 

"  Tlien  we  will  cast  prudence  to  the  winds 
for  once,  and  have  a  good  time.  I  suppose 
you  can  drive,  Bert." 

"  Oh  yes,  sir ;  I  like  it.  I  worked  for  a  few 
weeks  in  the  grocery  store,  and  drove  every 
day.    I  like  a  horse." 

"So  do  I;  but  I  don't  care  much  about 
handling  the  reins  myself.  You'll  promise  not 
to  upset  the  carriage,  as  Percy  did  the  other 
day?  " 

"  Not  unless'  we  meet  two  tramps,  as  he 
did,"  said  Bert,  laughing. 

"  I  declare,  Mary,  there  is  your  boy  calling 
his  old  uncle  a  tramp." 

"  And  myself,  too,  uncle." 

"  That  makes  it  seem  a  little  better.  Are 
you  going  back  to  the  shop?" 

"  Yes,  uncle ;  my  time  is  up." 

"  I'll  walk  along  with  you." 

As  the  two  walked  together,  Uncle  Jacob 
took  a  five  dollar  bill  from  his  pocket,  and 
handed  it  to  Bert. 

"  There,  Bert,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  give 
that  to  your  mother  toward  buying  groceries 
and  meat  this  week,  as  her  expenses  will  be 
increased  by  my  being  in  the  house." 

"  But,  Uncle  Jacob,  we  don't  want  you  to 
pay  boardo'* 


44  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  t  am  able  to  do  it,  and  prefer  it,  Bert.  So 
say  no  more  about  it." 

In  truth,  this  donation  was  a  relief  to  Bert 
and  his  mother,  for  they  were  compelled  to 
economize  closely,  and  yet  wanted  to  live  well 
while  Uncle  Jacob  was  visiting  them. 

About  seven  o'clock  Bert  drove  round  to  the 
house  in  a  handsome  top  buggy,  drawn  by  a 
spirited  black  horse,  the  best  in  Houghton's 
stable. 

"  I'll  let  you  have  it,  Bert,"  said  Mr.  Hough- 
ton, "  because  I  know  you're  a  careful  driver. 
There  are  few  persons  I  would  trust  with 
Prince." 

"  You  may  depend  on  me,  Mr.  Houghton." 

"  I  know  I  can,  Bert ; "  and  with  a  few  di- 
rections the  stable  keeper  resigned  the  turn- 
out to  Bert. 

"  You  have  got  a  stylish  rig,  Bert,"  said 
Uncle  Jacob.  "  I  think  we  shall  have  to  drive 
by  Albert  Marlowe's." 

"  Just  what  I  would  like,"  remarked  Bert, 
with  a  smile. 

Bert  had  his  share  of  human  nature,  and 
rather  enjoyed  being  seen  by  his  aristocratic 
relatives  in  such  a  stylish  turnout. 

Supper  was  over  at  Squire  Marlowe's  and 
the  family  were  sitting  on  the  piazza,  the  even- 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  45 

ing  being  warm,  when  Percy  espied  the  buggy 
approaching. 

"  I  wonder  who's  driving  Houghton's  best 
team?  "  he  said. 

"  By  gracious,  if  it  isn't  Bert  Barton  and 
his  mother  and  Uncle  Jacob!"  he  exclaimed, 
a  minute  later. 

The  squire  adjusted  his  eyeglasses,  and 
looked  at  the  carriage  now  nearly  opposite. 

"  You  are  right,  Percy,"  he  said. 

"What  can  it  mean,  Albert?"  asked  his 
wife,  in  bewilderment,  as  Uncle  Jacob  bowed 
from  the  buggy. 

"  It  means  that  a  fool  and  his  money  are 
soon  parted,"  answered  the  squire. 

"  I  thought  your  uncle  was  poor." 

"  So  he  is,  and  he  will  soon  be  poorer  from 
all  appearances.  Uncle  Jacob  never  was  a 
good  financial  manager.  He  was  always  too 
liberal,  or  he  wouldn't  be  as  poor  as  he  is  now. 
Why  with  five  huudred  dollars  he  probably 
feels  as  rich  as  a  nabob." 

"  No  doubt  Bert  Barton  will  help  him  spend 
it,"  said  Percy.  "  It  won't  last  long  at  any 
rate,  if  he  drives  out  every  evening." 

"  When  his  money  is  all  gone  he  will  prob- 
ably throw  himself  on  you  for  support, 
father." 

"  I  wash   my  hands  of  him,"  said   Squire 


46  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Marlowe,  in  a  hard  tone.  "  If  he  squanders 
his  money,  he  must  take  the  consequences." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speak  in  that  way, 
Albert,"  commented  his  wife,  approvingly. 

Uncle  Jacob  enjoyed  his  drive  and  paid 
two  dollars  at  the  stable  without  letting  the 
thought  of  his  extravagance  worry  him. 

"  I  hope  you  enjoyed  it,  Mary,'^  he  said. 

"  I  don't  know  when  I  have  enjoyed  myself 
so  much,  Uncle  Jacob." 

"  Nor  I,"  put  in  Bert. 

"  Then  I  think  the  money  well  spent.  It 
makes  me  feel  young  again,  Mary.  I  think  I 
made  a  mistake  in  staying  away  so  long."' 


CHAPTER   VII. 

UNCLE   JACOB   LEAVES  LAKEVILLE. 

On  his  way  home  to  dinner  the  next  day, 
Bert  fell  in  with  Percy  Marlowe. 

"  I  saw  you  out  driving  last  evening,"  re- 
marked Percy. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Bert  composedly. 

"You  had  Houghton's  best  team?" 

"  Yes." 

"  How  much  did  you  have  to  pay?  " 

"  I  believe  Uncle  Jacob  paid  two  dollars." 

"  He  must  be  crazy  to  pay  two  dollars  for 
a  ride.    Why,  he's  almost  a  pauper." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  47 

"  I  think  that  is  Ids  business,  Percy.  As  to 
being  a  pauper,  I  don't  believe  he  will  ever  be 
that." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  it.  Why,  he  told 
father  he  had  only  five  hundred  dollars.  How 
long  do  you  think  that's  going  to  last  him  if 
he  throws  away  his  money  on  carriage  rides?  " 

"  It's  only  for  once,  and,  as  I  said,  that 
isn't  our  business." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  either.  When 
he  has  spent  all  his  money  he'll  be  coming 
upon  father  to  support  him." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  will,"  said  Bert,  to 
whom  it  was  disagreeable  to  hear  the  kind  old 
man  spoken  of  slightingly. 

"  You  see  if  he  doesn't.  But  it  won't  do  any 
good.  Father  saj^s  as  he  makes  his  bed  he 
must  lie  on  it.  And  I  say,  Bert  Barton,  it 
isn't  very  creditable  to  you  and  your  mother 
to  help  the  old  man  squander  his  money." 

"  I  don't  thank  you  for  your  advice,  Percy 
Marlowe,"  retorted  Bert,  with  spirit.  "  If 
ever  Uncle  Jacob  does  come  to  want,  I'll  work 
for  him,  and  help  him  all  I  can." 

"  You !  why  you're  as  poor  as  poverty  it- 
self!  "  exclaimed  Percy,  with  a  mocking  laugh. 

"Good  morning!"  said  Bert  shortly,  pro- 
voked, but  not  caring  to  prolong  the  discus- 
sion. 


48  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

When  he  reached  home,  he  gave  Uncle 
Jacob  an  account  of  his  conversation  with 
Percy. 

The  old  man  laughed. 

"  So  Albert  says  that  as  I  make  my  bed  I 
must  lie  upon  it?"  he  repeated. 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  I  hope  you  won't  be  troubled 
at  that.    You  will  always  be  welcome  here." 

Uncle  Jacob's  eyes  grew  moist,  and  he  re- 
garded Bert  with  affection. 

"  You  are  a  good  boy  and  a  true  friend, 
Bert,"  he  said,  "  and  I  shall  not  forget  it." 

"  I  don't  know  but  Percy  was  right.  Uncle 
Jacob.  It  does  seem  extravagant  paying  such 
a  price  for  a  ride." 

"  It's  only  for  once  in  a  way,  Bert.  Y'ou 
mustn't  grudge  the  old  man  a  little  enjoyment 
in  his  vacation.  I  shall  be  going  to  work  next 
week." 

"You  will?    Where?"  asked  Bert  eagerly. 

"  In  New  York.  An  old  California  friend 
of  mine,  who  is  in  charge  of  a  mine  that  has 
been  put  on  the  New  York  market,  will  give 
me  a  clerkship  and  a  small  salary  which  will 
support  me  in  comfort.  So  you  see  I  am  all 
right." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  bear  it.  Uncle  Jacob," 
said    Bert    joyfully.      "  I    was    afraid    you 


Five  Hundred  Dollars,  49 

wouldn't  find  anything  to  do,  and  would  have 
to  spend  all  your  money  on  living." 

"  Come,  Bert,  that  isn't  much  of  a  compli- 
ment to  my  ability.  If  I  am  sixty-five,  I  am 
able  to  earn  a  living  yet,  and  though  twelve 
dollars  a  week  isn't  much " 

"  If  I  could  earn  twelve  dollars  a  week  I 
should  feel  rich.  Uncle  Jacob." 

"  True,  but  you  are  only  fifteen." 

"  Almost  sixteen." 

"  I  forgot  that,"  said  Uncle  Jacob,  smiling. 
"  Well,  even  at  sixteen,  a  boy  can  hardly  ex- 
pect to  earn  as  much  as  twelve  dollars  a  week. 
By  the  way,  how  much  does  Albert  pay  you?  " 

"  Four  dollars  a  week." 

"  Is  that  about  the  usual  price  for  boys 
employed  as  you  are?  " 

"  Most  shoe  bosses  pay  more.  The  squire 
pays  low  wages  all  round." 

"  Then  why  don't  the  men  go  elsewhere?  " 

"  Because  they  live  here,  and  it  is  better 
to  Avork  cheaper  here  than  to  move.  Some 
have  gone  away." 

"  Well,  keep  up  your  courage,  Bert,  and  the 
time  will  come  when  you  will  be  earning 
twelve  dollars  a  week  like  your  rich  old  uncle. 
If  the  office  were  only  in  Lakeville,  so  that  I 
could   board  with   your   mother " 

"  I   wish  it  was,   Uncle  Jacob." 


5o  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Well,  Mary,  I  shan't  have  to  open  a  cigar 
store  in  Lakeville,"  remarked  Uncle  Jacob,  as 
his  niece  entered  the  room. 

Mrs.  Barton  looked  an  inquiry,  and  Bert 
exclaimed :  "  Uncle  Jacob  has  secured  a  clerk- 
ship in  New  York  at  twelve  dollars  a  week." 

"  I  am  really  glad  I  "  said  Mrs.  Barton,  with 
beaming  face. 

*'  Come,  Mary,  did  you  too  think,  like  Bert 
here,  that  I  was  headed  for  the  poorhouse?  " 

"  I  felt  a  little  anxious  for  you.  Uncle  Jacob, 
I  admit." 

"  You  see  that  your  fears  were  idle." 

"  Will  you  have  to  work  very  hard?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Barton. 

"No;  my  emplo^^er  is  an  intimate  friend." 

"  When  do  you  commence  work?  " 

"  Next  Monday,  so  that  I  must  leave  you  on 
Saturday." 

"  Bert  and  I  will  both  miss  you;  but  as  it 
is  for  your  good,  we  won't  complain.  Now, 
Uncle  Jacob,  I  hope  you  won't  take  it  amiss  if 
I  urge  you  not  to  be  too  free  with  your  money, 
but  to  try  to  save  up  some  of  your  salary  so 
that  you  can  add  to  your  little  fund." 

"  Thank  you,  Mary.  I  suppose  you  a^e 
afraid  I  will  be  driving  fast  horses  in  Central 
Park,  eh?" 

"  I  am  more  afraid  you  will  be  too  generous 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  51 

<vith  your  money,  and  give  away  more  than 
you  can  afford." 

"  Well  thought  of,  Mary !  So  far  from  that, 
I  am  going  to  turn  miser  and  hoard  up  every 
cent  I  can." 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  much  danger  of 
that." 

"  Oh,  you  have  no  idea  how  mean  I  can  be  if 
I  try.  However,  as  I  shall  be  acting  accordiu;^ 
to  your  advice,  you  can't  find  fault  with  me." 

"  I  see  you  don't  mean  to  follow  my  advice, 
Uncle  Jacob," 

"  Sill  I  am  glad  you  gave  it.  It  shows  that 
you  feel  a  real  interest  in  your  shabby  old 
uncle.  Some  time — I  can't  promise  how  soon 
— I  shall  invite  3^ou  and  Bert  to  come  and 
spend  the  day  in  New  York.  I  will  get  a  day 
off  from  the  office,  and  we'll  have  a  nice  excur- 
sion somewhere," 

On  Friday,  Uncle  Jacob  called  on  Squire 
Marlowe;  not  at  the  house,  however,  but  at 
the  factory. 

"  I've  come  to  bid  you  good-by,  Albert,"  he 
said. 

"  Are  you  going  back  to  California?  "  asked 
the  Squire. 

"  No,  I  am  going  to  New  York." 

"  It  is  expensive  living  in  New  York.'' 

"  I  have  obtained  a  situation  [there." 


52  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"Ah^  indeed!  Tihat  is  different.  What 
sort  of  a  position?" 

"  I  shall  be  a  clerk  in  a  mining  office," 

"  What  pay  will  you  get?  " 

"  Twelve  dollars  a  week." 

"  Very  fair !  I  congratulate  you.  You 
ought  to  live  on  that  and  save  money  besides." 

"  That's  what  Mary  Barton  says." 

"  Then  she  gives  you  very  sensible  advice. 
It  will  be  a  great  deal  better  than  opening  a 
cigar  store  in  Lakeville." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  that  after  what  you  said  on 
the  subject,"  returned  Uncle  Jacob  in  a  defer- 
ential tone,  though  there  was  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye. 

"  I  am  glad  you  recognize  the  fact  that  I 
counseled  you  for  your  good,"  said  the  Squire 
pompously.  "  As  an  experienced  business 
man,  my  judgment  is  worth  something,  I  ap- 
prehend." 

"Quite  so,  Albert;  quite  so!  Is  your  wife 
feeling  better?  " 

(Uncle  Jacob  had  seen  Mrs.  Marlowe  rid- 
ing out  the  day  before,  apparently  in  full 
health.) 

"  She  is  somewhat  improved,  but  still  deli- 
cate," said  Squire  Marlowe  guardedly.  "  I 
am  sorry  I  cannot  invite  you  to  dine  with  us 
again  before  you  go  to  the  city," 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  53 

"  I  should  hardly  be  able  to  do  so,  as  I  go 
away  to-morrow." 

"  Just  so !  I  will  say  good-by  for  you,  and 
that  will  do  just  as  well." 

"  That's  a  load  off  my  mind !  "  soliloquized 
the  squire,  after  Uncle  Jacob  had  left  him. 
"  I  was  afraid  the  old  man  would  squander 
all  his  money,  and  then  come  upon  me  for  that 
old  loan.  I  hope  he'll  keep  away  from  Lake- 
v'ille  in  the  future." 

The  next  day  Uncle  Jacob  left  town.  As  he 
quitted  the  house,  he  put  a  sealed  envelope 
into  Mary  Barton's  hand. 

"  If  you  are  ever  in  trouble,  and  cannot  com- 
municate with  me,"  he  said,  "  open  this  enve- 
lope.    Take  good  care  of  it!" 

"  I  will.  Uncle  Jacob.  I  will  put  it  away  in 
my  trunk." 

'^  Well,  good-by,  Mai'y,  and  God  bless  you !  " 

A  minute  later  and  Uncle  Jacob  was  gone. 
Mrs.  Barton  went  back  to  covering  balls  and 
Bert  to  his  place  in  the  shoe  shop.  Their 
united  earnings  enabled  them  to  live  comfort- 
ably, and  they  were  content,  though  they  had 
nothing  to  spare.  But  trouble  was  close  at 
hand,  though  they  did  not  suspect  it. 

What  that  trouble  was  will  be  disclosed  in 
the  next  chapter. 


54  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

DISCHARGED. 

Three  days  later,  while  on  his  way  to  the 
factory,  Bert  overtook  Luke  Crandall,  who 
was  employed  like  himself  in  pegging  shoes. 

"Have  you  heard  the  news,  Bert?"  asked 
his  friend. 

"No;  what  is  it?" 

"  All  the  peggers  are  to  be  discharged ;  you 
and  I,  and  the  two  other  boys." 

"  Is  that  true?  "  asked  Bert,  stopping  short, 
and  surveying  his  friend  with  a  look  of  dis- 
may. 

"Yes;  I  wish  it  wasn't." 

"  What  is  the  reason?  " 

"  The  squire  has  bought  a  pegging  machine, 
and  he  has  hired  a  man  from  out  of  town  to 
run  it.     So  he  will  have  no  need  of  us." 

"  How  soon  is  he  going  to  put  it  in?  "  asked 
Bert,  with  a  sinking  heart. 

"  Next  Monday.  At  the  end  of  this  week 
we  shall  be  discharged." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do? "  Bert  in- 
quired, after  a  pause. 

"  I  shall  be  all  right.  I  have  an  uncle  who 
keeps  a  store  in  Bradford,  and  I  am  going 
there  to  tend  in  the  store,  and  shall  board  in 
the  family.    What  shall  you  do?" 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  55 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Bert  soberly. 
"  This  has  come  on  me  so  suddenly,  that  I 
haven't  had  time  to  think." 

"  There's  precious  little  chance  for  a  boy  in 
Lakeville,  unless  he  goes  to  work  on  a  farm." 

"  I  don't  even  know  if  there  is  a  chance  to 
do  that.  All  the  farmers  are  supplied  with 
help.  Besides,  they  generally  pay  a  boy  in 
his  board  and  clothes,  and  I  need  money  to 
help  support  my  mother." 

"  Isn't  old  Marlowe  your  uncle?  " 

"  No,  but  he  is  my  mother's  cousin." 

"  Then  he  ought  to  do  something  for  you 
out   of  relationship." 

"  I  don't  expect  it,"  answered  Bert.  "  He 
appears  to  feel  very  little  interest  in  us." 

They  had  reached  the  factory,  and  entering, 
were  soon  at  work.  Before  noon  the  bad  news 
was  confirmed,  and  the  boys  were  informed 
that  their  services  would  not  be  required  after 
Saturday  night. 

At  dinner  Bert  informed  his  mother,  and 
she  too  was  dismayed.  It  was  a  calamity  she 
had  never  dreamed  of.  She  supposed  Bert 
was  sure  of  continued  employment  in  pegging 
till  he  was  old  enough  to  be  employed  in  some 
other  part  of  the  bus^iness. 

"  I  don't  see  what  we  shall  do,  Bert,"  she 
said.     "  There  is  no  other  shop  in  Lakeville. 


56  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

If  there  ^vere,  you  might  get  a  chance  there." 

"  There  is  no  business  of  any  kind  here  out- 
side of  Marlowe's  shop." 

"  True.  What  are  the  other  boys  going  to 
do?'"' 

"  Luke  Crandall  is  going  into  his  uncle's 
shop  at  Bradford,  and  the  other  two  boys  talk 
of  leaving  town." 

"  I  do  think  Albert  Marlowe  might  find 
some  place  for  you.  We  are  near  relations, 
and  he  knows  how  I  depend  on  your  earn- 
ings." 

"  He  isn't  a  man  to  consider  that,  mother." 

Mrs.  Barton  was  silent,  but  she  determined 
to  make  an  application  to  her  cousin  in  Bert's 
behalf.  Accordingly,  in  the  evening,  she  said 
to  him.  "  Bert,  I  am  going  out  to  make  a  call. 
I  would  like  to  have  you  look  after  the  house 
while  I  am  gone." 

"  Yes,  mother." 

Mrs.  Barton  did  not  venture  to  let  Bert 
know  of  her  intention,  for  he  w^ould  have  done 
his  best  to  prevent  her  applying  to  the  squire 
for  a  special  favor.  Perhaps  he  was  too  proud, 
but  it  was  an  honorable  pride.  Besides,  he 
knew  very  well  that  the  appeal  was  likely  to 
prove  ineffectual. 

With  a  faltering  step  Mrs.  Barton  advanced 
and  rang  the  bell  of  her  cousin's  handsome 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  57 

Qouse.  It  Avas  a  call  from  which  she  shrank, 
but  she  was  spurred  by  necessity. 

"Is  Mr.  Marlowe  in?"  she  inquired. 

"  I  will  see,  ma'am." 

Squire  Marlowe  was  at  home,  and  she  was 
ushered   into  his  presence. 

Albert  Marlowe  was  not,  on  the  whole,  sur- 
prised to  see  his  cousin.  He  guessed  the 
errand  that  brought  her,  and  he  frowned 
slightly  as  she  entered  the  room. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said,  in  a  distant  tone. 
"  I  hope  you  are  well." 

"  Well  in  health,  but  anxious  in  mind,  Al- 
bert," she  said.  "  Bert  tells  me  that  he  ha« 
been  discharged  from  the  shop." 

"  Yes,  but  he  is  not  the  only  one.  There  are 
three  other  boys." 

"  It  has  come  upon  us  like  a  thunderbolt.  I 
had  no  idea  that  he  was  in  any  danger  of  los- 
ing his  place." 

"  I  have  nothing  against  your  son,  Mrs.  Bar- 
ton. It  is  a  business  necessity  that  compels 
me  to  dispense  with  his  services." 

"  Why  a  business  necessity?  " 

"  You  may  have  heard  that  I  intend  to  in- 
troduce a  pegging  machine.  It  will  do  the 
work  cheaper  and  more  effectually  than  under 
the  present  system." 

**  Oh,  why  couldn't  you  have  let  matters  re- 


58  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

main  as  they  were?  You  may  gain  something, 
but  you  are  depriving  the  boys  of  their  liveli- 
hood." 

"  You  don't  regard  the  matter  in  a  business 
light,  Mrs.  Barton.  I  must  keep  up  with  the 
times.  Other  manufacturers  are  making  the 
change,  and  I  should  stand  in  my  own  light  if 
I  adhered  to  the  old-fashioned  system." 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  know  about  business, 
Albert,  but  I  do  know  that  in  dismissing  Bert 
you  deprive  us  of  more  than  half  our  income, 
and  Heaven  knows  we  need  it  all." 

*'  Your  son  can  find  something  else  to  do." 

"  What  is  there  for  him  to  do  in  Lakeville? 
I  shall  be  grateful  if  you  will  suggest  any- 
thing." 

"  No  doubt  he  can  get  a  chance  to  work  on  a 
farm." 

"  I  know  of  no  farmer  who  needs  his  ser- 
vices, and  even  if  there  were  one  he  would  not 
get  money  for  his  services",  and  that  is  what 
we  want." 

"  Of  course  farming  isn't  the  only  thing," 
said  the  squire  vaguely.  "  If  he  looks  round 
sharp  he  will  come  across  something " 

Mrs.  Barton  shook  her  head. 

"You  know  how  little  business  there  is  in 
Lakeville,"  she  answered.    "  Isn't  there  somt? 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  59 

other  department  in  the  factory  in  which  you 
can  employ  him?" 

Squire  Marlowe  shook  his  head. 

"  He  is  too  young  for  any  other  work,"  he 
said. 

"  Then  what  are  we  to  do?  " 

"  Oh,  you'll  think  of  something,"  said  the 
squire  indefinitely.  "  He  is  to  be  in  the  shop 
the  rest  of  the  week,  and  that  will  give  you 
time  to  think  the  matter  over." 

"  Then  you  can't  hold  out  any  hope ! "  said 
Mrs.  Barton  mournfully. 

"  No,  but  you  mustn't  be  despondent. 
Something  will  turn  up." 

Mrs.  Barton  was  silent,  and  her  sad  face 
made  the  squire  vaguely  uncomfortable.  He 
wished  she  would  go. 

"  Mrs.  Marlowe  is  not  feeling  well  this  even- 
ing," he  said  awkwardly,  "  or  I  would  invite 
you  to  meet  her.    Some  other  evening " 

"  I  am  not  in  the  mood  to  meet  any  one 
to-night,  Albert,"  she  said.  "  I  will  be  going," 
and  she  rose  from  her  chair  and  moved  toward 
the  door. 

"  Good-evening,  then.  I  am  glad  to  have 
seen  you." 

Mrs.  Barton  did  not  reply  to  the  compli- 
ment. Her  heart  was  too  full  of  sorrow  to 
respond  to  what  she  knew  to  be  insincere  and 


6o  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

unmeaning.  She  understood  very  well  that 
Albert  Marlowe  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  her. 

"  How  unreasonable  w^omen  are!  "  muttered 
Squire  Marlowe,  impatiently,  as  he  closed  the 
door  upon  his  unwelcome  guest.  "  Mary  Bar- 
ton would  have  had  me  postpone  all  improve- 
ments in  my  shop  for  the  sake  of  keeping  that 
boy  of  hers  in  his  place.  Business  consider- 
ations are  as  nothing  to  women.  They  are  so 
unpractical." 

Mrs.  Barton  walked  homeward  slowly,  mus- 
ing bitterly  on  her  cousin's  want  of  feeling. 

"  How  cold-hearted  he  is ! "  she  murmured. 
"  He  evidently  cares  nothing  for  our  needs,  or 
the  prospect  of  our  hardships.  He  lives  in  a 
fine  house,  and  rears  his  family  in  luxury, 
while  Bert  and  I  are  likely  to  want  even  the 
necessaries  of  life." 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Barton  was  a  little  too  de- 
spondent. Perhaps  she  ought  to  have  had 
more  trust  in  Providence;  but  there  had  been 
sorrows  in  her  life  which  had  robbed  her  of 
her  natural  hopefulness,  and  she  was  no 
longer  as  courageous  in  the  face  of  threatening 
misfortune  as  she  had  once  been. 

She  had  nearly  reached  home  when,  from 
out  of  the  darkness,  a  man's  figure  advanced 
from  the  roadside  and  laid  his  hand  upon  her 
arm. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  6i 

"  Who  are  you ! "  she  asked  faintly,  sup- 
pressing a  scream. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Mary,"  was  the  reply, 
"  I  am  your  husband,  Simeon  Barton." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

MRS.  barton's  secret. 

LIrs.  Barton  staggered,  and  would  have 
fallen,  had  not  the  other  held  her  up.  "  You 
here,"  she  exclaimed,  in  amazement,  "  after 
being  absent  so  many  years?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  has  been  a  cruel  exile.  We  have 
been  very  unfortunate.'^ 

"  Where  have  you  been  these  last  ten  years, 
Simeon?  " 

"  For  the  last  eight  years  in  Canada." 

"And  you  did  not  write  me?  " 

"No;  I  feared  it  would  set  officers  on  my 
track.  I  have  heard  from  you  now  and  then, 
indirectly.    Have  you  suffered  much?" 

"  It  has  been  a  weary  time.  It  would  have 
been  easier  to  bear  if  I  ha-    heard  from  you." 

"A  letter  from  Canada  would  have  been 
sure  to  attract  attention  and  invite  comment. 
Besides,  I  had  no  money  to  send  you.  Mis- 
fortune has  pursued  me,  and  I  have  only  been 
able  to  support  myself.    When  I  think  of  the 


62  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

probable  author  of  my  misfortunes,  I  own  it 
has  made  me  feel  revengeful." 

"To  whom  do  you  refer,  Simeon?" 

"  To  Albert  Marlowe." 

"What  do  you  mean?  How  is  he  responsi- 
ble for  your — misfortune?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you.  I  believe  that  it  was  he 
who  stole  the  bonds,  the  loss  of  which  was  im- 
puted to  me." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  any  proof  of 
this? "  asked  Mary  Barton  eagerly.  "  The 
bond  that  was  found  in  your  possession " 

"  Was  placed  in  my  overcoat  pocket  for  the 
express  purpose  of  throwing  suspicion  upon 
me.  You  remember  that  it  was  a  bond  for 
five  hundred  dollars,  while  the  amount  stolen 
was  six   thousand." 

"  Yes." 

"  Albert  and  I  were  both  at  work  in  the 
same  establishment.  We  were  on  a  level,  so 
far  as  means  are  concerned." 

"  Yes."  I 

"  Now  he  is  a  rich  man,"  added  Simeon  Bar- 
ton significantly. 

"Yes;  he  is  considered  worth  thirty  thou- 
sand dollars." 

"  It  was  the  stolen  money  that  gave  him  his 
start,  I  verily  believe." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  63 

''  He  did  not  start  in  business  for  himself 
for  more  than  a  year  after — the  trouble." 

"No;  for  he  thought  it  would  invite  suspi- 
cion. I  have  reason  to  think  that  he  disposed 
of  the  bonds  in  Canada,  and  with  the  proceeds 
started  in  as  a  manufacturer.  How  otherwise 
could  he  have  done  so?  He  was  only  earning 
two  dollars  a  day  when  we  were  working  to- 
gether, and  it  cost  him  all  of  that  to  support 
his  family." 

"  I  have  often  wondered  where  he  obtained 
money  to  go  into  business." 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  any  mvstery  about 
it." 

"  And  you  have  been  compelled  to  bear  the 
consequences  of  his  wrong-doing  while  he  has 
been  living  in  luxury?"  said  Mary  Barton 
bitterly. 

"Yes;  but  mine  is*  not  a  solitary  case. 
Wickedness  often  flourishes  in  this  world.  We 
must  look  to  the  future  for  compensation." 

"  Do  you  think  you  will  ever  be  able  to 
prove  your  innocence,  Simeon?" 

"  It  is  all  that  I  live  for.  If  I  can  do  that, 
we  can  live  together  again.  But  tell  me,  be- 
fore I  go  any  further,  how  are  you  and  the 
boy  getting  along?  " 

"  We  are  comfortable,"  answered  Mary  Bar- 
to«i  briefly.     She  did  not  care  to  add  to  her 


64  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

husband's  anxieties  by  speaking  of  Bert's  dis- 
charge. 

"  I  wish  I  had  some  money  to  give  you,  but 
I  only  had  enough  to  bring  me  here  and  re- 
turn," 

"  You  had  an  object  in  coming?  " 

"  Yes ;  there  was  a  man  who  was  employed 
by  Weeks  Brothers  at  the  time  of  the  loss  of 
the  bonds.  I  learned  some  months  since — it  is 
not  necessary  to  explain  how — ^that  he  could 
throw  light  on  the  long  unsolved  mystery — 
that  he  knew  the  real  thief.  I  am  in  search  of 
him.  Some  time  I  hope  to  find  him,  and  make 
clear  my  innocence  by  the  aid  of  his  testi- 
mony." 

"  Oh,  Simeon,  if  you  only  could  I "  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Barton,  clasping  her  hands. 

"  I  shall  try,  at  all  events." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  would  not  be  well  to  consult 
Uncle  Jacob?" 

"  Uncle  Jacob !  "  repeated  Simeon  Barton  in 
surprise. 

"Yes;  I  have  not  told  you.  He  has  re- 
turned from  California,  and  is  now  in  New 
York." , 

"  Have  you  seen  him?  " 

"  Yes;  he  spent  a  week  at  our  house." 

Mrs.  Barton  went  on  to  give  the  particulars 
ot  Uncle  Jacob's  visit. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  65 

"  He  is  a  poor  man,"  she  concluded.  "  As 
I  understand,  lie  brought  home  but  five  hun- 
dred dollars,  but  he  is  lucky  enough  to  be  em- 
ployed in  an  office  in  New  York  at  a  salary  of 
twelve  dollars  a  week." 

"  If  I  were  earning  that,  and  could  hold  up 
my  head  an  honest  man,  without  a  stain — 
an  undesers^ed  stain — upon  my  name,  I  should 
be  happy." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  Uncle  Jacob's  address?  " 
lie  asked,  after  a  pause.  "  I  don't  think  I 
shall  venture  to  call  upon  him,  for  I  am  sub- 
ject to  arrest  on  the  old  charge,  as  you  know, 
and  the  New  York  detectives  are  sharp,  but  I 
might  write  to  him  and  ask  his  advice.  But 
stay !  he  thinks  me  dead,  does  he  not?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  Bert — is  that  what  you  still  call  him? 
— he  still  thinks  that  he  has  no  father  liv- 
ing? " 

"  You  wished  it  so,  Simeon." 

"Yes;  but  the  time  may  come  when  the 
secret  can  be  revealed  to  him.  I  may  disclose 
myself  to  Uncle  Jacob.  I  don't  remember  him 
very  well,  but " 

"  He  is  the  best  and  kindest  of  men.  I  wish 
he  could  have  found  employment  here." 

"Did  he  visit  Albert?" 

"  Yes;  he  remained  at  his  house  one  night." 


66  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"Was  he  well  received?" 

"  At  first ;  for,  coming  from  California,  Al- 
bert supposed  him  rich.  When  he  found  he 
had  but  five  hundred  dollars,  he  lost  no  time 
in  turning  him  out  of  the  house." 

"  Poor  Uncle  Jacob !  It  must  have  hurt  the 
old  man's  feelings," 

"  I  feared  it  would,  but  he  only  seemed 
amused — not  at  all   offended." 

"  He  has  seen  so  much  of  the  world  that  he 
probably  expected  it.  The  old  man  seemed  in 
good  spirits,  then?" 

"  Yes;  he  declared  that  he  was  well  able  to 
earn  his  own  living  still,  though  he  is  sixty- 
five,  and  was  as  gay  and  cheerful  as  a  young 
man.  He  insisted  on  paying  his  board  while 
he  was  with  us." 

"  There  is  nothing  mean  about  Uncle 
Jacob." 

"  No ;  and  it  is  a  mystery  to  me  why  such 
men  as  he,  who  would  make  so  good  use  of 
riches,  should  almost  always  be  poor." 

"  And  men  like  Albert  Marlowe  are  rich." 

''  Yes." 

"  There  are  a  good  many  things  that  are  dif- 
ficult to  make  out.  Where  are  you  going  to 
stay  to-night,  Simeon?"  she  asked,  after  a 
pause. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  67 

*a— don't  know." 

"  I  wish  I  could  invite  you  to  the  house 
where  jou  have  the  best  right  to  be." 

"  I  wish  so,  too." 

"  Bert  doesn't  know  that  you  are  alive. 
Perhaps  I  might  introduce  you  as  an  old 
friend  of  his  father." 

^'  If  you  think  it  would  do.  He  would  not 
speak  of  your  having  a  visitor?  " 

"  Not  if  I  told  him  not  to  do  so." 

"  You  have  tempted  me  strongly,  Mary.  I 
should  like  to  see  our  boy,  to  see  with  my  own 
eyes  how  he  is  looking  at  fifteen.  And  it 
would  be  a  comfort  to  rest  once  more  beneath 
the  same  roof  as  the  wife  from  whom  I  have 
been  so  long  separated." 

"  I  think  we  can  risk  it,  Simeon.  I  must  in- 
troduce you  under  another  name." 

"  Call  me  Robinson.  That  is  the  name  I 
have  borne  for  some  years  past." 

"  Mother ! "  was  heard  from  a  little  dis- 
tance. 

"  Bert  has  come  out  in  search  of  me,  being 
alarmed  by  my  long  absence.  Now,  be  on 
your  guard." 

"  Is  that  you,  mother?  Where  have  you 
been  so  long?    I  got  quite  anxious  about  you." 

"  I  met  an  old  friend  of  your  father,  Bert, 
and  in  talking  with  him  I  forgot  how  time  was 


68  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

passing.  Mr.  Robinson,  this  is  my  son  Her- 
bert." 

Bert  greeted  the  stranger  politely.  As  his 
hand  rested  for  a  moment  in  the  hand  of  >Mr. 
Kobinson,  he  felt  the  latter  tremble. 

"  Do  you  remember  your  father,  Herbert?  " 
asked  the  supposed  stranger. 

"  Not  very  well.  He  died  when  I  was  quite 
a  young  boy." 

"  True !  It  was  indeed  a  long  time  since," 
murmured  Robinson,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Bert,  I  have  invited  Mr.  Robinson  to  stay 
with  us  to-night.  It  is  long  since  I  have  seen 
him  and  we  may  not  meet  again  for  some  time. 
He  will  share  your  room." 

"  Certainly,   mother." 

They  went  together  to  the  cottage.  Mrs. 
Barton  prepared  some  tea,  and  they  sat  down 
to  a  slight  meal. 

"Oh,  if  it  could  only  continue  thus!" 
thought  Simeon  Barton,  as  he  looked  wistfully 
at  the  wife  and  son  from  whom  he  had  been  so 
long  separated.  "It  is  like  a  sight  of  the 
promised  land." 

"  Do  you  know  my  mother's  cousin,  Al- 
bert Marlowe? "  asked  Bert,  during  the 
evening. 

"  I  used  to  know  him  some  years  ago." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  60 

"Shall  you  call  upon  him?  He  is  a  ricli 
man  now." 

''  I  think  not.     I  never — liked — him  much." 

Bert  laughed. 

"Ditto  for  me!"  he  said.  "He  is  a  cold, 
selfish  man.  He  is  not  popular  with  his  work- 
men." 

"  By  the  way,  Bert,"  said  his  mother,  "  you 
need  not  mention  Mr.  Robinson's  visit.  His 
business  requires  secrecy." 

"All  right,  mother!    I'll  bear  it  in  mind." 


CHAPTER    X. 

STOLEN  MONEY. 

Saturday  afternoon  arrived,  and  with  it 
came  Bert's  discharge  from  the  shoe  shop. 
He  put  the  four  dollars  in  his  pocket,  and 
with  a  sober  face  went  home. 

"  There  are  my  week's  wages,  mother,"  he 
said.  "  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  have  any 
more  money  to  hand  you." 

"  We  won't  borrow  trouble  to-night,  Bert," 
responded  Mrs.  Barton,  concealing  her  solici- 
tude under  a  cheerful  exterior.  "  To-morrow 
is  Sunday,  and  we  will  defer  all  worldly  anx- 
ieties till  it  is  over." 

"  You  are  right,  mother,"  said  Bert,  readily 


70  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

chiming  Id  with  her  cheerful  humor.  "  I  am 
young  and  strong,  and  there  is  plenty  of  work 
to  be  done  in  the  world." 

"  Keep  up  your  courage,  Bert,  and  you  will 
be  more  likely  to  win  success." 

When  Sunday  was  over,  however,  Bert  felt 
that  he  must  begin  to  look  about  him.  But 
the  more  he  looked  the  more  downhearted  he 
became.  He  went  to  the  village  store,  having 
heard  that  the  boy  employed  there  was  about 
to  leave.  After  buying  a  pound  of  sugar  for 
his  mother,  he  ventured  to  say,  "  Mr.  Jones, 
don't  you  want  to  hire  a  boy?" 

"  Why  should  I  want  to  hire  a  boy?  "  asked 
the  store-keeper,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  I  thought  that  Herman  was  going  to  leave 
you." 

"  So  he  was,  but  he  has  changed  his  mind." 

"  Oh  !  "  ejaculated  Bert,  disappointed. 

"  Are  you  asking  for  yourself? "  inquired 
the  merchant. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  thought  you  were  at  work  in  the  shoe 
shop." 

"  So  I  was,  but  I  have  lost  my  place." 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  the  store-keeper  suspi- 
ciously. "If  Squire  Marlowe  has  discharged 
you,  I  don't  want  to  hire  you." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Jones,  about  the 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  71 

cause  of  my  discharge.  He  had  no  fault  to 
find  with  me." 

"  So  you  say,"  returned  Jones,  in  evident 
skepticism.  "  Boys  don't  get  discharged  for 
nothing." 

Bert  felt  inclined  to  be  angry,  but  he  con- 
trolled his  temper. 

"  I  am  a  pegger,  and  the  squire  has  intro- 
duced a  pegging  machine,  so  he  has  discharged 
all  the  peggers." 

"  Oh,  that's  different.  Well,  I'm  sorry  for 
you,  but  I  have  no  vacancy." 

"  If  Herman  should  change  his  mind  again, 
will  you  think  of  me?" 

"  Yes,  I  will.  I  think  j^ou  are  a  good  boy, 
and  you  look  strong  for  your  size." 

Bert  felt  a  little  encouraged  by  this  promise, 
though  it  was  very  doubtful  if  it  would  ever 
amount  to  anything. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  no  employment 
offered.  But  one  morning  a  bright  idea  came 
to  Bert.  Blueberries  were  just  coming  into 
the  market,  and  he  knew  of  a  large  pasture  a 
little  over  a  mile  away. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  if  you'll  give  me  a 
large  tin  pail,  I'll  go  after  some  berries.  I 
may  be  able  to  sell  them  at  the  hotel." 

"  If  you  can't,  we  can  use  them  ourselves," 
rejoined  Mrs.  Barton. 


72  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  It  will  be  better  to  sell  thera,  for  I  hear 
they  are  bringing  fifteen  cents'  a  quart.  They 
won't  stay  long  at  that  figure,  so  we  will  put 
off  having  them  ourselves  till  they  are 
cheaper." 

It  was  with  a  light  heart  that  Bert  set  out 
for  the  berry  pasture.  He  had  become  tired  of 
having  nothing  to  do.  Any  sort  of  employ- 
ment seemed  desirable.  Besides,  they  were 
very  much  in  want  of  money,  and  here  seemed 
a   chance  of  earning  some. 

Bert  spent  five  hours  in  the  pasture.  Ber- 
ries were  high,  because  they  were  scarce,  and 
it  took  fully  twice  as  long  to  gather  a  quart  as 
it  would  two  weeks  later.  But  he  kept 
steadily  at  his  task,  and  at  length  the  pail — 
which  held  four  quarts — was  full.  He  was 
tired  enough  and  his  back  ached,  but  still  he 
felt  happy  as  he  left  the  field  and  trudged  to- 
ward the  Lake  House,  which  was  the  name  of 
the  village  hotel.  There  were  a  few  summer 
boarders  there  from  New  York  and  Philadel- 
phia, who  were  glad  to  exchange  the  brick 
walls  and  crowded  city  streets  for  the  verdure 
and  pure  breezes  of  the  country. 

Fortunately  Bert  found  the  landlord  on  the 
piazza,  and  to  him  he  preferred  his  request. 

"  Would  you  like  to  buy  some  blueberries?  " 

"  Go  round  to  the  side  door,  Bert,"  said  Mr. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  73 

Holbrook,  the  good-natured  landlord.  "  I 
leave  all  such  matters  to  Mrs.  Holbrook." 

"  Blueberries? "    exclaimed     the    landlady. 

"  Why,  it's  just  what  I  wanted.  Mrs.  Case- 
well,  from  Philadelphia,  has  been  teasing  me 
for  some  blueberry  pudding.  What  do  you 
ask?" 

"  Fifteen  cents  a  quart,"  answered  Bert. 
"  You  know  they  have  just  come  into  the 
market." 

"  That's  true.  Well,  I  will  pay  you  your 
price,"  said  Mrs.  Holbrook,  who  received  a 
good  income  from  her  boarders,  and  was  will- 
ing to  be  liberal  to  others,  ''  How  many  have 
you  got? " 

"  I  think  there  are  four  quarts,  but  you  can 
measure  them." 

There  proved  to  be  four  quarts,  and  Bert 
was  made  happy  by  receiving  sixty  cents  in 
silver. 

"  It  is  almost  as  much  as  I  made  in  the 
shop,"  he  reflected  complacently.  ''  And  per- 
haps I  can  sell  some  more  to-morrow." 

Bert  continued  to  pick  berries,  but  the  price 
fell  rapidly  until  it  touched  six  cents,  and  it 
was  not  so  easy  to  sell  the  berries  at  all,  for 
many  others  engaged  in  picking  them,  and 
the  market  was  overstocked. 

Bert  occasionally  fell  in  with  Percy  Mar- 


74  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

lowe,  but  the  manufacturer's  son  usually  took 
very  little  notice  of  him.  This  did  not  trou- 
ble Bert,  however,  who  felt  independent,  and 
cared  little  for  the  opinion  or  notice  of  his 
wealthy  cousin. 

In  one  respect,  however,  Percy  resembled 
Bert.  He  was  always  short  of  money.  His 
father  allowed  him  two  dollars  a  week  for 
spending  money,  more  than  any  other  boy  in 
Lakeville  received,  but  Percy  felt  that  it  was 
too  little.  He  had  formed  an  intimacy  with 
Eeginald  Ward,  a  young  man  from  New  York, 
who  was  boarding  at  the  hotel,  and  with  him 
he  used  to  play  pool,  which  he  found  rather 
an  expensive  game;  and  still  worse,  he  played 
poker  with  him  in  his  own  room,  locking  the 
door  carefully,  as  this  game  was  not  looked 
upon  with  favor  in  Lakeville.  The  young 
man  from  the  city  was  much  sharper  than  the 
country  boy,  and  steadily  won  his  money  till 
Percy  found  himself  in  debt  to  him  in  the 
sum  of  ten  dollars.  For  this  Percy  gave  his 
note,  but  no  one  knew  better  than  Reginald 
Ward  that  it  was  not  valid  in  law,  and  he  re- 
solved to  secure  the  money,  if  possible. 

"  Percy,  you  owe  me  ten  dollars,"  he  said 
one  afternoon. 

^'  I  know  it/^  admitted  Percy,  rather  rue- 
fully. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  75 

"  When  are  yon  going  to  pay  me?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Percy. 

"  But  that  won't  do,  don't  you  know,"  re- 
turned Reginald  frowning.  ''  I  may  go  away 
next  week,  and  I  want  mv  money." 

"  I  would  pay  it  to  you  if  I  had  it,"  said 
Percy;  "but  you  know  I  have  only  my  allow- 
ance of  two  dollars  a  week." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense !  Do  you  think  you 
are  going  to  put  me  off  that  way?  "  demanded 
Reginald  angrily.     "  I  must  have  my  money." 

"  Then  I  don't  see  how  you're  going  to  get 
it,"  said  Percy  doggedly.  "  I  can't  pay  what 
I  haven't  got." 

"  Go  to  your  father  and  ask  for  it." 

"  As  if  he  would  give  it  to  me !  You  don't 
know"  him," 

"  Doesn't  he  ever  leave  money  lying 
round?  "  asked  Reginald  significantly. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Percy,  red- 
dening. 

"  I  see  you  understand.  I  was  only  suggest- 
ing a  way  to  get  the  money." 

"  I  am  not  a  thief." 

"  Who  said  you  were?  I  see  I  shall  have  to 
take  the  matter  into  my  own  hands." 

"  How?  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Percy 
nervously. 

"  I  will  go  to  your  father,  show  him  this 


76  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

I  O  U  of  yours,  and  ask  him  for  the  money." 
"  You    wouldn't    do    that,    Reginald?      He 
would    be    awful    mad    with    me,    and    you 
wouldn't  get  your  money,  either." 

"  I  must  do  something.  I  can't  afford  to 
lose  the  money." 

"  Just  wait  a  day  or  two.  I'll  see  what  I 
can  do." 

"  Mind  you  do  something,  then." 
Percy  regretted  that  he  had  ever  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Reginald  Ward,  or  con- 
sented to  play  poker  with  him,  but  the  regret 
came  too  late.  The  mischief  was  done,  and 
he  saw  from  Ward's  determined  look  that  he 
must  do  something.  He  was  just  in  that 
frame  of  mind  when  temptations  have  the 
most  power. 

In  the  evening  he  went  to  the  village  store 
to  purchase  a  fishing-line,  for  he  had  made  an 
arrangement  to  go  out  fishing  with  Reginald 
Ward  the  next  day.  He  made  the  purchase, 
and  was  about  to  go  when  his  eye  caught  sight 
of  a  twenty-dollar  bill  lying  on  the  desk.  Mr. 
Jones  had  gone  to  the  other  end  of  the  store, 
and  no  one  was  looking.  On  the  impulse  of 
the  moment  he  seized  the  bill,  and  with  his 
heart  beating  quickly,  he  left  the  store.  As 
he  passed  through  the  door  Bert  Barton  en- 
tered with  a  kerosene  can  in  his  hand,  and 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  77 

walked  up  to  the  counter,  taking  his  stand 
near  the  desk. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE   TWENTY-DOLLAR  BILL. 

In  order  to  understand  what  followed,  it  is 
necessary  to  explain  that  the  evening  pre- 
vious Bert  and  his  mother  found  themselve- 
out  of  money.  About  a  dollar  was  due  the 
latter  for  covering  balls,  but  it  would  not  be 
paid  for  three  days,  and  meanwhile  they  were 
in  an  embarrassing  condition. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  asked  Mrs.  Barton, 
with  a  troubled  look.  "  If  Uncle  Jacob  were 
only  here,  I  would  ask  his  advice." 

"  He  left  a  note  to  be  opened  if  we  got  into 
trouble,"  said  Bert,  brightening  up. 

"  So  he  did.  Do  you  think  the  time  has 
come,    Bert?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  Where  is  it, 
mother?  " 

"  I  put  it  in  a  bureau  drawer  in  my  room." 

"Shall  I  go  up  and  get  it?" 

"  No ;  I  will  do  so,  as  I  know  exactly  w^here 
it  is." 

She  went  upstairs,  and  returned  almost  im- 
mediately with  the  letter  in  her  hand.  Bert 
produced  his  knife  and  cut  open  the  envelope 


^S  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

at  one  end.  Then,  drawing  out  the  contents, 
he  found  them  to  be  a  half  sheet  of  note  paper 
and  a  bank  bill. 

"It's  a  twenty-dollar  bill,  mother!"  he  ex- 
claimed joyfully. 

"Shall  I   read  the  note?" 

"Yes,  read  it,  Bert." 

Bert  read  as  follows: 

My  Dear  Niece  :  As  I  know  your  income  is 
small,  and  you  are  liable,  in  case  of  sickness 
or  loss  of  employment  to  need  help,  I  put 
a  twenty-dollar  bill  into  this  envelope,  which 
I  wish  you  to  use  freely.  Do  not  fear  that 
it  will  inconvenience  me  to  give  it.  My  health 
is  good,  and  I  hope  to  earn  my  living  for  years 
to  come. 

Your  affectionate  uncle, 

Jacob  Marlowe. 

"  Dear  Uncle  Jacob,"  said  the  widow  grate- 
fully, "  how  good  and  kind  he  is.  With  his 
small  savings  I  don't  feel  that  he  can  afford  to 
be  so  generous." 

"  I  will  pay  him  back  some  time,  mother." 

"  You  think  then  that  we  are  justified  in 
using   it,   Bert?" 

"  Uncle  Jacob  meant  us  to  do  so.  Before  it 
is  gone  I  shall  probably  find  something  to  do, 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  79 

and  then  I  may  gradually  be  able  to  pay  back 
the  money." 

"  In  that  case,  Bert,  I  am  afraid  we  must 
break  into  it  to-morrow.  Probably  Mr.  Jones 
can  change  it  for  us." 

So  it  happened  the  next  evening  that  Bert, 
with  the  kerosene  can  in  his  hand,  went  to  the 
store,  entering,  as  already  described,  just  as 
Percy  left  it  with  the  bill  which  he  had  pur- 
loined on  the  impulse  of  the  moment. 

"  I  would  like  two  quarts  of  kerosene,  Mr. 
Jones,"  said  Bert,  handing  over  the  can. 

The  proprietor  went  to  one  corner  of  the 
store  to  fill  the  can,  and  brought  it  back. 

"  Please  take  your  pay  out  of  this,"  said 
Bert,  handing  him  the  twenty-dollar  bill. 

Mr.  Jones  started  in  surprise,  and.  his  face 
darkened  ominously.  He  scanned  the  desk  on 
which  he  remembered  placing  his  own  twenty- 
dollar  bill,  and  it  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"  Wliy,  you  audacious  young  thief!"  he  ex- 
claimed in  a  fury. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Bert 
angrily. 

"What  do  I  mean?"  gasped  Jones.  "You 
know  what  I  mean  well  enough.  I  never  knew 
such  audacity." 

"  Please  explain  yourself,  Mr.  Jones,"  said 


8o  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Bert  with  spirit.  "  I  didn't  come  here  to  bfe 
insulted." 

"  You  are  a  hardened  young  reprobate !  Do 
jou  mean  to  say  you  didn't  steal  this  twenty- 
dollar  bill  from  my  desk,  where  I  laid  it  five 
minutes  since?  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  any  twenty- 
dollar  bill  of  yours,  Mr.  Jones.  This  money  is 
mine,  or  rather  my  mother's,  and  I  brought  it 
with  me  from  home." 

"  Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  this  bold 
falsehood,  Bert  Barton?  "  the  store-keeper  ex- 
ploded wrath  fully. 

"  I  don't  expect  you  to  believe  any  falsehood 
at  all,  Mr.  Jones.  Will  you  either  change  that 
bill  or  give  it  back  to  me?" 

"  I  will  do  neither." 

"  Then,  sir,  it  is  you  who  are  the  thief." 

"  You  impudent  young  rascal,  now  I  won't 
have  any  mercy  on  you.  For  your  mother's 
sake,  I  might  have  done  so,  but  as  you  persist 
in  brazening  out  your  guilt,  I  will  see  that 
you  have  a  chance  to  repent.  Here  is  the  con- 
stable come  in  just  at  the  right  moment.  Mr. 
Drake,  please  come  here." 

A  tall,  pleasant-looking  officer,  who  had  just 
entered  the  store,  approached  the  desk. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Jones?  "  he 
asked. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  8i 

"Arrest  this  boy!"  said  Jones,  pointing 
with  flushed  face  at  his  joung  customer. 

"  Arrest  Bert  Barton  !  "  exclaimed  Consta- 
ble Drake,  in  amazement.  ''  What  on  earth 
has  he  done?  " 

"  Stolen  a  twenty-dollar  bill  from  my  desk, 
and  then  presented  it  to  me  in  payment  for 
some  kerosene." 

"  The  charge  is  false ! "  said  Bert,  his  eyes 
glowing   with    indignation. 

"  Hear  him  deny  it ! "  said  Jones,  looking 
at  the  circle  that  had  gathered  around  them. 

"  I  find  it  hard  to  credit  your  charge,  Mr. 
Jones,"  replied  the  constable.  "  We  all  know 
Bert  Barton,  and  I  don't  believe  he  would  be 
guilty  of  theft." 

"  I  require  you  to  arrest  the  boy !  "  persisted 
the  store-keeper,  stamping  his  foot  in  excite- 
ment. 

"Wait  a  moment!  Did  you  see  him  take 
the  bill?" 

"  No,"  answered  Jones  reluctantly. 

"Then  why  do  you  accuse  him?  Please 
state  the  circumstances." 

"  A  few  minutes  since  I  was  paid  twenty, 
dollars  by  Mr.  Holbrook  of  the  hotel,  in  settle- 
ment of  his  weekly  bill  for  groceries,  and  being 
somewhat  hurried  I  laid  it  down  on  the  desk 
while  I  was  filling  an  order." 


82  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Go  on !  " 

"  Five  minutes  since  Bert  Barton  came  in 
and  took  up  his  position  where  he  is  now 
standing.  He  asked  me  for  two  quarts  of 
kerosene.  I  filled  his  can  for  him,  and  he  gave 
me  a  twentj-dollar  bill  from  which  to  take 
payment.  I  was  naturally  surprised,  and 
looked  for  the  bill  I  had  left  on  the  desk.  It 
was  gone!" 

Mr.  Jones  gazed  about  the  circle  triumph- 
antly. 

"What   do  you   say   to   that?"   he  asked. 

Sympathetic  eyes  were  turned  upon  Bert. 
Things  certainly  looked  black  for  him. 

"  I  don't  think  I  need  say  any  more,'^  added 
the  store-keeper.  "  I  want  you  to  arrest  that 
boy." 

Bert  looked  at  the  faces  that  encircled  him. 
He  saw  that  they  believed  him  guilty,  and  a 
feeling  of  hot  indignation  possessed  him. 

"  Bert,  my  boy,"  said  Officer  Drake,  "  what 
have  you  to  say  to  this?  " 

"  That  the  twenty-dollar  bill  I  handed  to 
Mr.  Jones  belongs  to  my  mother.  I  know 
nothing  of  the  bill  he  says  he  laid  on  his 
desk." 

"  That's  a  likely  story ! ''  put  in  Mr.  Jones, 
in  a   tone  of  sarcasm.     "  How  many  more 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  83 

twenty-dollar  bills  have  you  got  at  your 
house?  I  wasn't  aware  that  your  mother  was 
so  wealthy." 

Again  opinion  was  unfavorable  to  poor 
Bert.  His  mother's  straitened  circumstances 
were  well  known,  and  it  certainly  did  seem 
improbable  upon  the  face  of  it  that  she  should 
have  a  twenty-dollar  bill  in  her  possession. 

"  This  was  the  only  twenty-dollar  bill  that 
my  mother  had,"  replied  Bert. 

"  Oh,  indeed !  I  thought  as  much,"  said 
Mr.  Jones  significantly.  "  Mr.  Drake,  do  you 
intend  to  arrest  that  boy?  "  he  added  angrily. 

"  I  have  no  warrant,"  returned  the  officer. 
"  If  you  will  swear  that  you  saw  him  take  the 
bill,  I  will  assume  the  responsibility." 

"  I  didn't  see  him  take  it,"  the  store-keeper 
again  admitted  reluctantly;  "but  it  stands  to 
reason  that  it  is  mine." 

Here  a  young  man  in  the  outer  circle 
stepped  forward.  He  was  a  summer  boarder 
at  the  hotel,  and  Bert  knew  him  slightly. 

"  I  am  a  lawyer,"  he  said,  "  and  if  Bert  v/ili 
place  his'  interests  in  my  hands  I  will  see  what 
I  can  do  to  throw  light  upon  this  mystery." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do  so,  Mr.  Con- 
way," answered  Bert. 

"  No  lawyer  is  needed,"  sputtered  Jones. 
"  The  c^se  is  as  plain  as  can  be.    I  have  no 


§4  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

''more  doubt  that  the  boy  took  my  bill  than  if  I 
had  seen  him  do  it." 

"That  isn't  legal  proof;  it  is  only  an  as- 
sumption," said  the  young  lawyer.  "  Squire 
Marlowe  is,  I  believe,  your  magistrate  here, 
and  I  agree  in  behalf  of  my  client  to  have  the 
matter  brought  before  him  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Meanwhile,  Mr.  Jones,  will  you  hand  the 
twenty-dollar  bill  in  dispute  to  officer 
Drake?  " 

"Why  should  I?  The  bill  is  mine,"  said 
the  merchant  sullenly. 

"  That  remains  to  be  proved.  Do  I  under- 
stand that  you  refuse  to  give  up  the  bill?  " 

"  I  do?  "  answered  Jones  doggedly. 

"  Then  I  will  apply  at  once  for  a  warrant 
for  your  arrest  for  holding  property  belonging 
to  my  young  client,"  said  Mr.  Conway. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

MR.  JONES  IS  EXCITED. 

The  astonishment  and  wrath  of  Mr.  Jones 
were  almost  ludicrous  as  he  stared  at  the 
lawyer,  who,  cool  and  composed,  reiterated  his 
threat. 

"I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing!"  he 
gasped.  "  You  take  my  own  money  from 
me?" 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  85 

"  It  remains  to  be  proved  whether  it  is  your 
own  money.     The  boy  says  it  is  his." 

"The  boy  lies." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Jones,  I  cannot  allow  you  to 
make  such  charges  against  my  client,  unless 
you  are  ready  to  substantiate  them  by  proof." 

"  It  stands  to  reason,"  began  Mr.  Jones,  but 
the  young  lawyer  interrupted  him. 

"  Nothing  stands  to  reason  that  you  can't 
prove,"  he  said.  "  We  will  give  you  an 
opportunity  to  prove  your  ownership  of  the 
bill  to-morrow  in  court.  Now  hand  the  bill  to 
officer  Drake." 

Very  much  against  his  will,  Mr.  Jones  felt 
compelled  to  do  this. 

"Isn't  the  boy  going  to  be  arrested?"  he 
demanded,  with  an  ugly  look  at  Bert. 

"  It  is  unnecessary.  You  can  bring  a 
formal  charge  against  him  before  Squire  Mar- 
lowe to-morrow." 

"  The  boy  may  escape  during  the  night.  I 
won't  trust  him." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  disapproval  among 
those  present.  All  liked  Bert,  and  Mr.  Jones, 
from  his  quick  temper  and  ugly  disposition, 
was  by  no  means  a  favorite.  The  store-keeper 
saw  that  it  would  not  be  good  policy  to  insist 
upon  Bert's  arrest,  and  he  said,  sullenly,  "  I 


S6  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

s 

will  hold  you  responsible  for  his  presence  at 
the  trial." 

Mr.  Conway  smiled. 

"  If  he  is  not  present,  I  will  myself  see  that 
you  do  not  suffer  in  consequence.  Besides, 
flight  would  be  tantamount  to  confession, 
and  the  case  would  go  against  him  by  de- 
fault." 

"  And  should  I  in  that  case  get  the  twenty- 
dollar  bill?" 

"  I  will  take  it  upon  me  to  offer  no  opposi- 
tion," said  the  lawyer. 

"  Now,  can  I  go?  "  asked  Bert. 

"  Yes ;  I  will  accompany  you  home  for  con- 
sultation." 

Bert  took  the  can  of  kerosene  and  was 
about  to  leave  the  store,  when  the  store-keeper 
said  harshly :  "  Put  down  that  kerosene ! 
you  haven't  paid  for  it ! " 

Bert  flushed  and  looked  embarrassed.  It 
was  true  that  he  had  not  paid  for  it,  nor  did 
he  have  the  money  to  pay,  outside  of  the 
twenty-dollar  bill  which  had  been  taken  from 
him. 

"  I  have  no  money,"  he  said.  ''  I  will  leave 
it  till  to-morrow." 

"  How  much  is  it,  Mr.  Jones?  "  asked  Con- 
way. 

"  Twenty-five  cents." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  87 

"  I  will  advance  the  money.  Bert,  take 
your  can." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Conway,"  said  the 
boy  gratefully. 

"  We  will  settle  hereafter.  Now  let  us  be 
going." 

In  explanation  of  the  price  mentioned,  I 
may  say  that  kerosene  is  now  much  cheaper 
than  at  the  date  of  my  story. 

"  Now,  Bert,"  said  Mr.  Conway,  "  as  your 
legal  adviser  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  tell 
me  just  where  you  obtained  the  bill  you 
offered  in  payment  to  Mr.  Jones  for  the  kero- 
sene. I  have  no  doubt  of  your  Innocence,  but 
we  must  make  it  plain  to  all  who  may  attend 
the  trial." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  you  come  home  with 
me,  Mr.  Conway.  Mother  will  confirm  what 
I  say." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so.  Will  your 
mother  be  alarmed?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  she  will ;  but  you  can  make 
things  clear  to  her." 

Mrs.  Barton  was  indeed  startled  when  she 
learned  that  Bert  had  been  charged  with 
theft,  but  after  a  free  talk  with  Mr.  Conway 
she  felt  much  relieved. 

"  Your  defence  is  perfect,  I  think,"  said  the 
young  lawyer.     "  Of  course  Mr.  Jones  or  his 


88  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

lawyer  may  claim  that  you  wrote  the  letter 
yourself." 

'^  Will  it  be  necessary  to  send  to  Uncle 
Jacob  and  get  him  to  testify?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  think  your  defence 
will  be  complete  without  it.  There  is  another 
point  of  considerable  importance  which  I 
shall  look  up  to-night.  If  things  turn  out  as 
I  suspect  they  will,  we  shall  not  need  to  dis- 
turb your  Uncle  Jacob." 

At  nine  o'clock  Mr.  Conway  took  his  leave 
and  returned  to  the  hotel.  He  had  a  short 
conference  with  the  landlord,  which  was  evi- 
dently satisfactory. 

"  I  think  we  shall  prove  too  many  for  Mr. 
Jones,"  he  murmured  softly,  as  he  went  up  to 
bed. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

PERCY  GETS  RID  OF  THE  BILL. 

When  Percy  Marlowe  left  the  grocery 
store  with  the  stolen  bill  in  his  hand,  he  was 
tremulous  with  excitement  and  agitation.  He 
felt  that  he  had  committed  a  crime,  and  he 
was  almost  tempted  to  go  back  and  replace 
the  money.  But  it  was  possible  that  its  loss 
had  already  been  discovered,  and  he  might 
be  connected  with  it.    He  felt  that  it  would  be 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  89 

safe  to  get  as  far  away  as  possible  from  the 
store. 

"  Nobody  will  suspect  me,"  he  said  to  him- 
self,  plucking  up  courage. 

Then  there  was  the  pleasant  thought  that  he 
could  pay  up  his  debt  to  Reginald  Ward,  and 
have  ten  dollars  left  over.  It  would  be  very 
comfortable  to  have  ten  dollars  to  spend,  and 
Percy,  whose  conscience  was  not  sensitive,  be- 
gan to  consider  what  would  be  the  pleas- 
antest  way  of  disposing  of  it.  He  soon  came 
to  a  decision  on  this  point,  having,  like  most 
boys,  rather  a  talent  for  spending  money. 

"  I'll  go  round  by  the  hotel,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  and  if  I  find  Reg  there  I'll  pay  him 
what  I  owe  him  and  get  it  off  my  mind." 

Percy  walked  around  to  the  Lake  House, 
and  found  Reginald  Ward  in  the  billiard 
room.     Ward  treated  him  rather  coldly. 

"  Good-morning,  Percy,"  he  said. 

"  Good-morning,  Reg." 

"  I  hope  you  have  come  prepared  to  pay  me 
what  you  owe  me.  I  may  have  to  go  back  to 
New  York  to-morrow." 

"  I  wish  he  would,"  thought  Percy.  "  Then, 
if  there's  any  trouble  about  this  money,  he 
will  be  well  out  of  the  wa}',  and  nobody  can 
find  out  about  it." 

"  I  can  pay  you  to-night,"  said  Percy. 


90  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

'*  You  can?  You're  a  trump!"  said  Regi- 
nald, in  gratified  surprise. 

"  Suppose  we  go  up  to  your  room,"  went  on 
Percy  nervously,  "  and  don't  talk  about  it 
here.  I  don't  want  anybody  to  know  that  I 
am  owing  you  any  money." 

"  I  understand.  The  governor  wouldn't 
like  it,  hey?  " 

^'  No,  he'd  be  awful  mad." 

"  Follow  me,  then,  Percy,"  and  Ward  led 
the  way  up  to  his  room. 

"  Lock  the  door,"  said  Percy. 

"  Seems  to  me  we  are  mighty  mysterious," 
commented  Ward,  laughing.  ''  Oh,  well ;  any- 
thing to  accommodate.  Now,  where  are  the 
spondulicks?  " 

"Can  you  change  a  twenty-dollar  bill?" 
asked  Percy. 

"  Whew !  you  are  wealthy,"  said  Ward,  in 
surprise.  "  Let  me  see !  "  and  he  opened  his 
pocket  book.  "  Much  as  ever,"  he  replied, 
after  investigating  the  contents.  "  Here  is  a 
five,  a  two,  a  silver  dollar,  and  I  think  I  can 
make  up  two  dollars  in  small  change.  It'll 
take  up  about  all  I've  got." 

"  Then  perhaps  you'd  rather  wait  till  I  have 
a  chance  to  get  the  bill  changed,"  suggested 
Percy. 

"  Not   much,"   returned   Reginald,   with   a 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  gt 

crafty  smile.  "  '  A  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth 
two  in  the  bush,'  as  somebody  says.  I  am 
willing  to  be  inconvenienced  for  the  sake  of 
getting  the  debt  paid." 

"  Oh,  well ;  just  as  you  say,"  rejoined  Percy, 
secretly  glad  to  get  the  tell-tale  bill  out  of  his 
possession,  and  to  replace  it  in  his  pocket  with 
the  smaller  bills  and  silver  which  Ward  pro- 
posed to  give  him. 

When  the  transfer  was  made,  Ward  asked, 
"Where  did  you  raise  the  twenty,  Percy?" 

Now  it  was  that  Percy  looked  embarrassed. 

"  It  is  some  money  I  had  given  to  me  a  long 
while  ago,"  he  answered  with  hesitation. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Ward,  evidently  incred- 
ulous. 

"  I  promised  not  to  use  it,  but  to  keep  iti 
saved  up,"  continued  Percy,  "  and  I  meant  to ; 
but  you  wanted  me  to  pay  what  I  owed  you, 
and  so " 

"  You  acted  like  an  honest  young  man," 
said  Ward,  finishing  his  sentence  for  him. 

"  Yes." 

There  was  a  peculiar  smile  on  Reginald 
Ward's'  face,  but  he  did  not  think  it  best  to 
question  Percy's  statement.  His  money  had 
been  paid  him,  and  that  was  all  he  cared  for. 

"  Percy's  found  it  in  his  father's  desk,  I 
reckon,"  be  said  to  himself,  "  but  that  doesn't 


92  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

concern  me.  I've  got  my  money  and  that's 
more  than  I  expected." 

"  By  the  way,  Reg,"  said  Percy  hurriedly, 
"  don't  mention  to  any  one  my  paying  you 
this  money." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  It  would  be  found  out  that  I  had  been 
playing  cards  for  money,  and  there'd  be  no 
end  of  a  row.  Besides,  then  it  would  come  out 
that  I  had  parted  with  this  bill." 

"  All  right,  Percy.  I'll  keep  mum.  Won't 
you  go  down  and  have  a  game  of  billiards?  " 

"  Not  to-night.     I'm  rather  tired." 

"  That  boy's  got  something  on  his  mind," 
thought   Reginald   Ward. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

BERT  STANDS  TRIAL. 

Percy  went  to  bed  early,  and  heard  nothing 
of  Bert's  arrest  for  the  theft  which  he  had 
himself  committed  till  at  the  breakfast  table 
the  next  morning  his  father  said :  "  Well, 
young  Barton  has  got  into  a  bad  scrape." 

"  What  is  it,  father?  "  asked  Percy,  prick- 
ing up  his  ears. 

"  He  is  charged  with  stealing  a  twenty-dol- 
lar bill  from  Mr.  Jones,  the  store-keeper." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  93 

This  was  certainly  amazing,  and  Percy,  in 
his  agitation,  nearly  choked  with  some  coffcb 
that  went  the  wrong  way. 

'^  Be  more  careful,  Percy ! "  said  his  mother 
sharply. 

"  I  was  so  surprised,  mother,  at  what  father 
told   me,"  apologized   Percy. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  need  be  surprised," 
said  Mrs.  Marlowe.  "  I  never  had  a  very  good 
opinion   of   the   boy." 

"How  did  it  happen?"  asked  Percy, 
curious  to  know  how  suspicion  could  have 
fallen  upon   Bert. 

"  It  appears  that  Mr.  Jones  laid  a  twenty- 
dollar  bill  on  his  desk — a  very  careless  pro- 
ceeding, by  the  way — while  he  was  waiting 
upon  a  customer  in  another  part  of  the  store. 
About  five  minutes  afterward  the  Barton  boy 
called  upon  him  to  fill  a  small  can  with  kero- 
sene, and  actually  had  the  hardihood  to  offer 
his  own  twenty-dollar  bill  in  payment.'' 

"  Bert  Barton  offered  Mr.  Jones  a  twenty- 
dollar  bill?  "  asked  Percy,  in  great  surprise. 

"Yes;  no  wonder  you  are  surprised  at  his 
boldness." 

"  Perhaps  it  wasn't  the  same  bill,"  Percy 
was  constrained  to  suggest. 

"  You  must  be  a  fool,  Percy.  Where  else 
could  he  have  got  so  large  a  bill  as  that?    We 


94  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

all  know  how  poor  the  Bartons  are.  Besides, 
the  bill  on  the  desk  had  disappeared." 

Percy  was  silent  for  a  moment.  He  felt  be- 
wildered, and  could  not  understand  it  at  all. 
He  knew  very  well  that  it  was  not  the  same 
bill.  But  where  did  the  other  bill  come  from? 
How  happened  a  poor  boy  like  Bert  Barton 
to  have  such  a  large  bill  in  his  possession? 
That  was  certainly  mysterious. 

"  Was — was  Bert  arrested?"  he  asked,  in  a 
hesitating  tone. 

"  He  would  have  been  but  for  the  interfer- 
ence of  a  meddlesome  young  lawyer,  who,  it 
appears,  is  staying  at  the  hotel." 

"Mr.   Conway?" 

^'  I  believe  that  is  his  name.  He  offered  to 
defend  the  Barton  boy,  and  would  not  permit 
him  to  be  arrested." 

Percy  was  glad  to  hear  this.  He  was  mean 
and  selfish,  but  he  was  not  mean  enough  to 
wish  Bert  to  suffer  for  a  crime  of  which  he 
knew  him  to  be  innocent. 

"What  was  done,  then?"  he  asked,  after  a 
pause. 

"  The  boy  was  allowed  to  go  home,  but  his 
trial  is  to  take  place  before  me  this  morning 
at  ten  o'clock.  You  can  be  present,  if  you 
desire." 

^*  I— (ion't — know  as  I  do,"  said  Percy. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  95 

His  father  looked  surprised. 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  eager  to  be  there," 
he  said. 

"I  may  come  in,"  said  Percy;  "but  I  am 
sorry  for  Bert,  and  I  should  not  like  to  see 
him  under  arrest." 

"  You  are  too  good-hearted,  Percy,"  said 
his  mother.  "  I  am  sure  I  hope  the  boy  did 
not  do  what  is  charged,  though  I  don't  think 
there  is  the  slightest  doubt  of  it;  but  if  he  is 
guilty  I  want  him  punished.  That  is  the  only 
way  to  protect  the  community  from  further 
thefts." 

"  What  would  mother  say  if  she  knew  I  did 
it?"  thought  Percy,  shivering.  "I  wish  I 
hadn't  done  it." 

But  it  was  too  late  to  wish  that.  He  had 
appropriated  the  money,  and  it  had  been  paid 
aw^ay.  Suppose  Reginald  Ward  should  be- 
tray him?  Percy  earnestly  hoped  that  he 
would  leave  town  before  he  had  a  chance  to 
hear  of  the  stolen  money,  for  he  felt  certain 
that  sharp  young  man  would  suspect  him  of 
having  had  something  to  do  with  it. 

As  the  time  drew  near,  Percy  decided  that 
he  had  better  not  attend  the  trial.  He  was 
afraid  that  some  one  would  call  to  mind  that 
he  too  had  been  standing  near  the  desk  just 
before  the  bill  disappeared.    He  felt  nervous 


o6  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

and  excited.  He  wished  it  was  all  over,  and 
Bert  was  acquitted.  Suppose  he  were  found 
guilty  and  sentenced  to  imprisonment?  It 
would  be  terrible,  Percy  admitted  to  himself; 
but  what  could  he  do?  He  couldn't  confess, 
and  incur  the  same  punishment  himself.  The 
very  thought  made  him  shudder.  He  walked 
about  the  streets  in  a  very  uncomfortable 
frame  of  mind  till  about  a  quarter  of  ten. 
Then  he  suddenly  encountered  Bert,  who,  in 
company  with  his  lawyer,  was  on  his  way  to  a 
room  in  the  town  hall  where  the  trial  was  to 
take  place.  Bert  held  his  head  erect,  but  his 
face  was  flushed  with  shame  at  the  unpleas- 
ant predicament  in  which  he  found  himself. 
When  he  saw  Percy  approaching  he  said  to 
himself  bitterly :  "  There  is  one  who  will  re- 
joice at  my  misfortune." 

What  was  his  surprise,  then,  when  Percy 
came  up  with  a  pleasant  smile,  and  said, 
"  Good-morning,  Bert." 

Bert  looked  at  him  sharply,  to  see  if  there 
was  anything  triumphant  in  his  smile,  but 
Percy^s  manner  was  cordial  and  friendly. 

"Have  you  heard  of  my  trouble,  Percy?" 
asked  Bert  abruptly. 

"  Yes,  Bert,  and  I  am  very  sorry  for  it." 

"Do  you  believe  me  guilty?" 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  97 

"  No,  I  don't,"  returned  Percy,  and  he 
offered  his  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  Percy,"  said  Bert,  moved  in 
spite  of  himself.  "  I  misjudged  you.  If  yow 
don't  believe  me  guilty,  I  hope  others  won't. 
Are  you  going  to  the  trial?  " 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  doing  so,  but  I  will 
walk  with  you  as  far  as  the  town  hall.'^ 

There  was'  quite  a  crowd  gathered  near  the 
entrance  to  the  building,  for  it  was  generally 
known  that  Bert  was  to  be  tried  for  the  theft 
that  morning.  Some  of  those  composing  it — 
in  fact  most^ — were  Bert's  friends;  but  there 
were  a  few  whp  delighted  in  scandal  and 
looked  forward  with  eagerness  to  hearing  the 
details,  and  did  not  care  much  how  Bert 
might  be  affected  by  it. 

The  surprise  was  general  when  Bert  ap- 
proached, apparently  in  friendly  converse 
with  Percy  Marlowe,  a  boy  whose  want  of 
cordial  feeling  toward  him  was  generally 
known.  The  occasion  was  a  trial  for  Bert, 
"i  but  Percy's  unexpected  friendliness  sustained 
him,  though  he  had  not  got  over  his  surprise 
at  it. 

All  parties  entered  the  court-room,  and 
presently  Squire  ^Nfarlowe  himself  appeared. 
He  walked  with  dignity  to  the  platform,  and 


98  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

took  his  seat  behind  the  desk  over  which  jus- 
tice was  dispensed. 

"  Who  is  the  complainant  in  this  case?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I  am,  squire,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  advancing 
eagerly. 

"  State  your  case." 

"  I  charge  this  boy — Bert  Barton — with 
stealing  a  twenty-dollar  bill  from  my  desk 
last  evening." 

"Have  you  counsel?" 

"  No,  squire.  The  case  is  plain,  and  I  can 
manage  it  myself." 

"  I  represent  the  defendant,"  said  the  young 
lawyer  Conway. 

"  You  are  a  lawyer,  are  you?  "  asked  Squire 
Marlowe,  frowning. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Have  you  any  evidence  or  certificate  to 
show  this?  " 

"  I  can  prove  it,  if  necessary ;  but  I  will  ven- 
ture to  suggest  that  your  doubts  on  the  sub- 
ject are  very  singular,  and  that,  lawyer  or  no 
lawyer,  I  am  at  liberty  to  appear  for  the  de- 
fendant if  he  desires  it." 

Squire  Marlowe  coughed  and  looked  dis- 
pleased at  this  remark. 

"  State  your  case,  Mr.  Jones,"  he  said,  after 
the  latter  had  been  sworn. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  99 

The  grocer  told  the  storj  as  it  happened, 
making  it  bear  as  heavily  against  Bert  as  pos- 
sible. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  ask  the  witness  any 
questions,  Mr,  Conway,"  inquired  the  judge. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Mr.  Jones,  what  makes  you 
think  my  client  took  your  twenty-dollar 
bill?" 

"  It  stands  to  reason — "  commenced  the 
grocer. 

"  Never  mind  about  that !  Please  stick  to 
facts." 

"  Well,  the  bill  disappeared." 

"  Admitted.    Go  on." 

"  The  Barton  boy  was  standing  near  the 
desk." 

"  Did  you  see  him  take  it?  " 

"No;  how  could  I?    My  back  was  turned." 

"  This  is  important.  Then,  so  far  as  your 
knowledge  goes,  any  other  person  may  have 
taken  the  bill." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  the  boy  was  brazen 
enough  to  of^'er  me  the  same  bill  in  payment 
for  some  kerosene  which  I  got  for  him?" 

"  You  are  very  sure  it  was  the  same  bill,  are 
you,  Mr.  Jones? "  asked  Conway  carelessly. 

"  Why,  of  course  it  was." 

"  That  won't  do  I  How  can  you  prove  ifc 
was?  " 


100  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Because,"  said  the  grocer  triumphantly^ 
"  the  bill  I  lost  was  a  twenty-dollar  bill,  and 
the  bill  the  boy  offered  me  was  a  twenty-dol- 
lar bill,"  and  Mr.  Jones  looked  around  the 
court-room  with  a  complacent  and  triumphant 
smile.  Squire  Marlowe,  judge  though  he  was, 
gave  a  little  nod,  as  if  to  show  that  he,  too, 
thought  the  argument  was  unanswerable. 
Even  Bert's  friends  in  the  court-room  glanced 
at  each  other  gravely.  It  certainly  looked 
bad  for  our  hero. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

BERT'S    TRIUMPHANT    VINDICATION. 

"  You  have  not  answered  my  question,  Mr. 
Jones,"  persisted  the  young  lawyer. 

^'  I  rather  think  I  have,"  said  the  grocer, 
looking  around  him  triumphantly. 

"  But  not  satisfactorily.  I  ask  you  again, 
how  do  you  know  that  the  twentj'-dollar  bill 
tendered  you  by  my  client  was  the  same  bill 
which  you  left  on  the  desk?  " 

"  It  stands'  to  reason '' 

"  Stop  there !     That  is  no  answer." 

"  It  seems  to  me  you're  mighty  particular," 
retorted  the  grocer  sharply. 

"  My  young  client's  interests  require  it. 
Now  for  your  answer," 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  loi 

*'  Well,  there  wasn't  any  other  twenty-dol- 
lar bill  around." 

''  How  do  you  know !  Young  Barton  says^ 
he  brought  the  bill  from  home." 

"  He  says  so  I  "  repeated  Mr.  Jones,  with 
a  suggestive  sneer. 

"  Upon  that  point  I  propose  to  call  a  wit-< 
nes  who  will  corroborate  his  statement.  Mrs. 
Barton  I  " 

The  widow  Barton  came  forward,  pale  and 
anxious,  and  was  sworn.  She  was  regarded 
with  sympathy  by  all  present  except  the  gro- 
cer and  the  acting  judge.  After  one  or  two 
unimportant  questions,  Mr.  Conway  asked: 
"  When  your  son  went  to  the  grocery  store, 
did  he  take  any  money  with  hin??" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

^^How  much?" 

"  Twenty  dollars." 

"  Was  it  in  the  form  of  one  bill,  or  sev- 
eral?" 

"  It  was  a  single  twenty-dollar  bill." 

Mr.  Jones,  who  had  now  taken  his"  ^at, 
looked   insultingly   incredulous. 

"Can  I  ask  a  question?"  he  said,  turning 
to  Squire  Marlowe. 

"  You  can." 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  Mrs.  TJarton  where 
the  prisoner  obtained  the  ,wentv ^dollar  bill?" 


A02  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

And  the  grocer  looked  around  the  court-room 
again,   triumphantly. 

"  It  came  from  my  uncle,  Jacob  Marlowe,"" 
answered  Mrs.  Barton. 

"Ah,  that's  it!  Is  Mr.  Jacob  Marlowe  in 
town?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  When  was  he  in  town?  " 

"  Three  or  four  weeks  since." 

"When  did  he  give  you  the  money?" 

"  He  left  a  sealed  envelope  containing  it, 
which  we  were  not  to  open  unless  in  case  of 
need." 

"  When  did  you  first  open  it?  " 

"  Last  evening." 

"  Can  you  produce  the  envelope? "  asked 
Jones,  with  an  ironical  smile. 

"Here  it  is." 

The  envelope  was  taken  and  examined  by 
the   grocer. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  show  that  this  could 
not  have  been  prepared  by  the  defendant, 
without  the  knowledge  of  this  convenient 
uncle,"  he  said. 

"  There  was  a  note  accompanying  it,"  Mrs. 
Barton  added. 

"  Let  me  see  it." 

"  I  will  read  it,"  said  Mr.  Conway,  taking 
it  in  his  hand. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  103 

This  note  has  already  been  quoted  in  Chap- 
ter XI. 

Mr.  Jones  looked  somewhat  nonplussed. 

"  I  am  free  to  confess/'  he  said,  after  a 
pause,  "  that  I  doubt  tlie  genuineness  of  this 
note.  Nothing  could  be  easier  than  to  pre- 
pare it." 

"  I  appeal  to  the  court  to  protect  the  wit- 
ness from  insult,"  interposed  Mr.  Conway. 

"  I  do  not  consider  that  she  has  been  in- 
sulted," said  Squire  Marlowe  coldly.  "  The 
credibility  of  testimony  is  always  a  matter 
to  be  considered." 

Mr.  Jones  eyed  the  young  lawyer  with  a 
triumphant  smile. 

"  Have  you  any  further  questions  to  put, 
Mr.  Jones?  "  added  Conway. 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  satisfied." 

"  Then  the  witness  may  step  down.  I  call 
upon  Mr.  Jones  to  take  the  witness  stand 
again." 

"  I  have  no  objection,  I  am  sure! "  said  the 
grocer  jauntily.     He  saw  that  the  judge  was  , 
with    him,    and    he    confidently    anticipated 
Bert's  conviction. 

"  From  whom  did  you  obtain  the  twenty- 
dollar  bill  which  you  charge  my  client  with 
taking?  "  asked  Mr.  Conway. 


104  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  From  Mr.  Holbrook,  the  landlord  of  the 
hotel." 

"  You  are  sure  of  this?  "  demanded  Conwaj 
sternly. 

'^  Of  course  I  am." 

"  And  you  will  swear  that  this  is  the  case?  " 

"  Certainly !  "  answered  Mr.  Jones  aggres- 
sively, thinking  it  very  important  that  he 
should  substantiate  this  fact. 

"  That  will  do,  Mr.  Jones." 

The  grocer  took  his  seat,  feeling  that  he  had 
scored  a  victory  and  foiled  the  lawyer.  It 
was  not  long  before  he  had  occasion  to  change 
his  opinion. 

"  Mr.  Holbrook,"  called  Conway. 

The  landlord  of  the  Lakeville  Hotel  took 
the  stand.  He  was  a  pleasant-looking,  good- 
hearted  man,  and  he  glanced  sympathetically 
at  Bert  and  his  mother. 

"  Mr.  Holbrook,"  said  Conway,  "  do  you 
remember  paying  Mr.  Jones,  the  complainant, 
a  twenty-dollar  bill?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  grocer  smiled  again.  Everything 
seemed  to  favor  his  side  of  the  case. 

"  For  what  was  the  payment  made?  " 

"  For  groceries   furnished  by  Mr.   Jones." 

"  Would  you  recognize  the  bill  you  paid  if 
you  should  see  it  again?  " 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  105 

*  Yes,  sir." 

"Is  this  the  bill?"  asked  the  lawyer,  ex- 
hibiting the  note  taken  from  the  grocer,  and 
now  in  the  custody  of  the  court. 

Mr.  Holbi'ook  took  the  bill  in  his  hand,  and, 
turning  it  over,  looked  at  the  reverse  side. 
All  eyes  were  upon  him,  and  there  was  a  hush 
of  expectation,  for  it  was  felt  that  the  whole 
case  hinged  upon  the  answer  to  this  question. 

"  This  is  not  the  same  bill,"  answered  the 
landlord  composedly. 

Bert's  friends  looked  joyful,  and  Mr.  Jones 
looked   dismayed. 

"  He  is  mistaken ! "  ejaculated  the  grocer, 
much  perturbed. 

"  Of  course,"  continued  the  young  lawyer, 
"  you  have  some  means  of  identification. 
Please  state  to  the  court  how  you  know  that 
this  is  not  the  same  bill." 

"  The  bill  which  I  paid  to  Mr.  Jones,"  an- 
swered the  landlord,  "  had  the  letters  I.  W. 
written  in  red  ink  on  the  back.  This  note  has 
no  such  mark." 

Conway  looked  triumphant.  It  was  his 
turn  now.  He  took  the  bank-note,  and  hold- 
ing it  up  in  sight  of  all,  called  the  attention 
of  the  court  and  those  present  to  the  fact  at- 
tested by  the  witness. 

"  It  is  clear,"  he  said,  "  that  nothing  was 


io6  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

ever  written  on  the  back  of  this  note  in  red 
ink." 

"  It  might  have  been  effaced,"  suggested  the 
grocer  querulously. 

"  The  bill,  since  it  was  taken  from  the  com- 
plainant, has  been  in  charge  of  the  court," 
said  Conway.  "  I  hardly  think  the  complain- 
ant will  dare  to  assert  that  it  has  been 
tampered  with.  And  now,  your  honor,"  turn- 
ing to  the  presiding  judge,  "  I  submit  that  the 
charge  has  been  completely  answered.  We 
have  shown  that  the  bill  tendered  by  my  client 
was  not  the  bill  lost  by  Mr.  Jones.  I  claim  his 
discharge," 

Squire  Marlowe  hesitated,  but  he  could 
think  of  no  pretext  for  holding  Bert,  since  the 
case  against  him  had  so  signally  failed. 

"  The  prisoner  is  discharged ! "  he  said 
briefly,  and  rose  from  his  seat. 

Bert's  friends  surrounded  him,  and  he  be- 
gan to  fear  that  in  their  enthusiasm  they 
would  shake  his  hand  oi¥.  It  was  almost  as 
serious  as  being  a  Presidential  candidate.  It 
is  needless  to  say,  however,  that  Mr.  Jones 
was  not  one  of  the  friends  who  congratulated 
him.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  looked  decidedly 
grumpy,  and  as  if  he  had  lost  his  best  friend. 
He  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  up  to 
the  young  lawyer. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  107 

"  This  is  all  very  fine,  Mr.  Lawyer,"  lie  said, 
"  but  will  you  tell  me  how  I  am  to  get  my 
money  back?  " 

"  What  money,  Mr.  Jones?  " 

"  The  twenty-dollar  bill  taken  from  my 
desk,  of  course." 

"  I  wish  I  could,  Mr,  Jones,  but  I  know  no 
more  than  the  man  in  the  moon." 

"  Is  that  all  the  satisfaction  I  am  going  to 
get?"  demanded  Jones  angrily. 

"  From  me — yes.  You  will  have  to  find  the 
person  who  actually  took  the  money." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  do  it.  I  would 
have  sworn  that  it  was  Bert  Barton,  and  I  am 
not  sure  now " 

"Stop  there,  Mr.  Jones!  If  after  my 
client's  full  vindication  you  insinuate  any 
t'harge  of  dishonesty,  I  shall  advise  him  to  sue 
you  for  defamation  of  character." 

The  grocer  looked  startled,  and  Conway 
continued : 

"  But  I  will  volunteer  the  suggestion  that 
as  you  can  now  identify  the  bill,  you  can 
advertise  that  a  note  so  marked  has  been 
stolen  from  you,  and  call  upon  any  one  into 
whose  hands  it  may  come  to  help  you  trace  it 
back  to  the  thief.  There  is  a  chance  that  you 
may  recover  it." 


K)8  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  STOLEN  NOTE. 

Among  the  attentive  listeners  at  Bert's 
trial  was  a  tall  young  man  with  light  hair  and 
pallid  complexion,  upon  whose  thin  face  there 
played  a  shrewd  smile.  He  seemed  unusually 
interested,  as  was  indeed  the  case,  for  he 
strongly  suspected  that  he  knew  who  was 
the  actual  purloiner  of  the  stolen  twenty-dol- 
lar bill.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the 
young  man  was  Percy's  friend,  Reginald 
Ward. 

When  the  landlord  gave  his  testimony,  he 
was  no  longer  in  doubt,  for  he  had  himself 
noticed  the  letters  I.  W.  on  the  back  of  the 
bank-bill. 

As  he  left  the  court-room,  he  saw  Percy  lin- 
gering near  the  door. 

"  Come  with  me,  Percy,"  he  said,  linking 
his  arm  with  that  of  the  boy.  "  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you." 

"  I  have  an  engagement,"  pleaded  Percy, 
trying  to  release  himself.  "  I  will  call  round 
this  afternoon." 

I  can't  wait  till  afternoon,"  said  Reginald 
decidedly.  "  I  must  speak  to  you  now  on  a 
matter  of  importance." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  109 

"  How  did  the  trial  come  out?" 

"  The  boy  was  acquitted." 

"  I  thought  he  would  be." 

"Why?"  asked  Reginald  Ward,  eyeing 
Percy  curiously. 

"  Because  I  don't  think  he  would  steal." 

"  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours?  " 

"No;  he  is  only  a  working  boy." 

"  Still  you  think  he  is  honest?  " 

"Oh,  yes." 

"  How  then  do  you  account  for  the  bill's 
being  stolen?  " 

Percy  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  feel  sure  that  any  bill  was  stolen," 
he  said.  "  I  don't  think  much  of  old  Jones. 
I  dare  say  he  made  up  the  story." 

"  That  is  hardly  likely.  What  object  could 
he  have?  " 

"  He  wanted  to  get  hold  of  Bert  Barton's 
bill.  Where  did  Bert  get  it  from?  Did  he 
say?" 

"  He  said  it  was  left  in  an  envelope  by  some 
old  uncle  of  his." 

"  Uncle  Jacob?  " 

"Yes;  I  think  that  was  the  name." 

"  I  didn't  think  the  old  man  had  so  much 
money  to  spare." 

"You  seem  to  know  him  then?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  him." 


tlo  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

By  this  time  thej  had  reached  the  hotel, 
and  Keginald  asked  Percy  to  come  up  to  his 
room. 

"  What  was  it  you  wanted  to  speak  to  me 
about?  "  asked  Percy,  as  he  took  a  seat  at  the 
window. 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  the  stolen  bill 
came  from  Mr.  Holbrook.  Mr.  Jones  testified 
to  this  effect,  and  Mr.  Holbrook  also." 

"Well,  what  of  that?" 

"  Mr.  Holbrook  described  the  bill  and 
stated  that  the  letters  I.  W.  were  written  in 
red  ink  on  the  reverse  side.'' 

Percy  began  to  see  the  point,  and  waited 
anxiously  for  Reginald  to  continue. 

Ward  drew  from  his  pocket  the  twenty- 
dollar  bill,  and  held  it  up  to  open  view. 

"  This  is  the  bill  you  paid  me  last  evening," 
he  said.  "  You  will  observe  the  letters  I.  W. 
as  described  by  the  landlord.  Now,  where 
did  you  get  this  bill?"  he  asked  searchingly. 

Drops  of  perspiration  stood  on  Percy's  fore- 
head, and  he  hesitated  to  reply.  Finally  an 
inspiration  came  to  him,  and  he  said,  *"  I 
picked  it  up  in  the  street,  near  the  grocery 
store.     The  thief  must  have  dropped  it." 

"  You  didn't  tell  me  that  when  you  paid  it 
to  me,'' 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  iii 

"  No,  I  didn't  think  it  necessary.  I  was 
anxious  to  get  out  of  debt  to  you." 

"  Percy  Marlowe,  that  statement  of  yours 
won't  pass  muster.  Weren't  you  in  the  gro- 
cery store  last  evening?  " 

"  No — yes,"  stammered  Percy. 

"  And  you  saw  this  bill  on  Mr.  Jones's  desk 
— yes  or  no?  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  right  you  have  to  ques- 
tion me,"  said  Percy  sullenly. 

"  Because  you  have  paid  me  stolen  money, 
and  if  I  keep  it  I  am  likely  to  get  into  t^'ouble. 
Indeed,  I  came  very  near  it  this  morning.  I 
was  on  the  point  of  paying  it  to  Mr.  Holbrook 
for  my  board.  You  can  imagine  that  he  would 
have  recognized  it  at  once." 

"  I  don't  see  as  you  are  to  blame." 

"No,  I  am  not;  but  if  the  bill  were  known 
to  be  in  my  possest^on,  the  only  thing  I  could 
do  would  be  to  state  from  whom  I  received 
it." 

"You  wouldn't  do  that!"  said  Percy,  in 
alarm, 

"  I  should  have  to.  But  I  don't  mean  to 
run  the  risk.  I  will  give  you  back  the  bill, 
and  you  must  return  me  the  ten  dollars  I  gave 
you  in  change." 

"  But  what  can  I  do  with  the  bill?  " 


112  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  That  is  your  lookout.  Of  course  you  will 
still  owe  me  ten  dollars." 

Keluctantly  Percy  drew  out  the  ten  dollars 
he  had  received  in  change,  not  having  yet 
spent  any  of  it,  and  Reginald  Ward  gave  him 
back  the  unlucky  bill.  Percy  thrust  it  quickly 
into  his  vest  pocket. 

"  Now,  Percy,"  said  Reginald,  "  let  me  ad- 
vise you  as  a  friend  to  get  that  bill  out  of  3^our 
possession  as  soon  as  possible.  If  it  is  traced 
to  you,  you  will  get  into  hot  water." 

"  I  can't  pass  it  here." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  pass  it  anywhere." 

"  You  could  pass  it  in  New  York." 

Reginald  Ward  considered  a  moment,  but 
shook  his  head.  "  No,  it  would  be  too  danger- 
ous," he  said.  "  It  might  be  traced  to  me, 
and  it  would  be  known  that  I  have  been  in 
Lakeville.  I  should  have  to  expose  you  to 
screen  myself." 

"  Then  what  would  you  advise  me  to  do?  " 

"  Get  it  back  to  Mr.  Jones  in  some  way. 
Here,  take  an  envelope,  inclose  the  bill,  and 
mark  the  grocer's  name  on  it.  Then  drop  it 
somewhere,  and  the  thing  will  be  done;  Jones 
will  be  happy  and  you  will  be  safe." 

"All   right!" 

"  Percy  followed  Reginald's  advice,  and 
then  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  113 

"  When  are  you  going  back  to  New  York?  " 
he  asked. 

"  To-morrow.  I  will  leave  you  my  address, 
and  hope  you  will  have  the  honesty  to  pay  me 
what  you  owe  me  as*  soon  as  possible." 

"  Yes,  I  will,  but  I  am  afraid  that  won't  be 
soon." 

"  You  ought  to  make  an  effort  to  pay  me." 

"  It  isn't  as  if  I  reall}^  owed  it  to  you.  It 
is  money  I  have  lost  at  cards." 

"  If  you  are  a  boy  of  honor,"  said  Reginald 
impressively,  "  you  will  feel  that  such  debts 
ought  to  be  paid  above  all  others." 

"Why  should  they?"  asked  Percy,  and 
there  will  be  many  others  who  will  be  disposed 
to  echo  the  question.  "  Why  should  gambling- 
debts  take  precedence  of  honest  obligations?  " 
It  is  not  necessary  to  repeat  Reginald's  ex- 
planation, as  it  was  shallow  and  sophistical. 

Two  hours  later  Sam  Doyle,  a  young  Irish 
boy,  espied,  under  a  bush  by  the  roadside, 
what  seemed  to  be  a  letter.  He  picked  it  up, 
and,  though  his  education  was  by  no  means 
extensive,  he  made  out  the  name  of  Mr.  Jones. 

"  Shure  Mr.  Jones  must  have  dropped  it 
out  of  his  pocket,"  he  said.  "  I'll  carry  it  to 
him." 

He  entered  the  store,  and  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  grocer,  who  was  behind  the 


'*ii4  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

counter,  and  in  a  bad  humor,  smarting  still 
from  his  loss  of  twenty  dollars. 

"Clear  out,  you  Sam  Doyle!"  he  said, 
"  unless  you  want  to  buy  something,  I  don't 
want  any  boys  loafing  round  my  store." 

"  Is  this  your  envelope,  Mr.  Jones?  "  asked 
Sam,  producing  the  envelope. 

"  Give  it  to  me." 

Mr.  Jones  read  his  name  on  the  envelope  in 
some  wonder  and  tore  it  open.  What  was  his 
amazement  and  delight  when  he  saw  the  lost 
bill! 

"  Where  did  you  get  this,  Sam?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  found  it  under  a  bush  by  the  side  of  the 
road,  near  the  blacksmith's  shop." 

"When?" 

"  Shure  it  wasn't  more'n  five  minutes.'* 

"  Do  you  know  what  was  in  the  envelope?  '* 

"  No." 

"  You  are  sure  no  one  gave  you  the  letter  to 
hand  to  me?  "  said  the  grocer,  with  a  search- 
ing glance. 

"Shure,  I  found  it." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  to  get  it.  You  are  a  good 
boy  to  bring  it  to  me.    Here's  ten  cents." 

Sam  took  the  money,  as  much  surprir>ed  as 
pleased,  for  the  grocer  was  considered,  and 
justly,  a  very  mean  man. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Jones,"  he  said. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  115 

"  You  are  sure  that  Bert  Barton  didn't  give 
you  the  letter?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  haven't  seen  Bert  since  morn- 
in'." 

"  Did  you  see  any  other  boy  near?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  saw  Percy  Marlowe." 

"Did  he  speali  to  you?" 

"Yes,  sir;  he  asked  me  what  I'd  got  in  my 
hand." 

"'  What  did  you  say?  " 

"  I  showed  him  the  letther." 

"Did  he  say  anything  to  you  then?" 

"  He  told  me  it  was  for  you,  and  he  said  I'd 
better  take  it  right  over  to  your  store." 

"  He  gave  you  good  advice.  Wait  a  minute, 
and  I'll  do  up  a  pound  of  sugar  and  send  it  to 
your  mother  as  a  present." 

"What's  come  to  the  old  man?"  thought 
Sam.  "  Shure  he's  gettin'  generous  in  his  old 
age ! " 

"  I  wish  I  knew  who  took  that  bill,'" 
thought  the  grocer  meditatively.  "  However 
I've  got  it  back,  and  that's  the  main  thing." 

When  Percy  dropped  the  envelope,  he  re- 
mained near  at  hand,  and  seeing  Sam  pick  it 
up,  instructed  him  to  carry  it  to  the  grocer. 
He  then  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  felt 
that  he  was  lucky  to  get  out  of  a  bad  scrape 
so  safely. 


^ii6  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

CHAPTEE    XVII. 

AFTER  THE  TRIAL. 

"  Mr  Conway,"  said  Bert,  as  they  walked 
home  together  froDi  the  trial,  "  I  am  very 
grateful  to  you  for  getting  me  out  of  my 
trouble.  If  you  will  let  me  know  your  fee,  I 
will   pay   it." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  rejoined  the  young  lawyer, 
"  this  is  my  vacation,  and  I  only  took  up  your 
case  to  keep  my  hand  in." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  and  I  shall  always  re- 
member it." 

"  Lawyers  are  not  always  mercenary, 
though  they  have  that  reputation  with  some. 
I  should  like,  by  the  way,  to  find  out  who  did 
steal  the  bill." 

"  So  should  I.    I  have  no  idea  for  my  part." 

"If  you  ever  find  out,  let  me  know.  I  go 
back  to  New  York  to-morrow,  and  am  glad  to 
leave  the  memory  of  a  professional  triumph 
behind  me." 

"  What    is    your   address,    Mr.    Conway? " 

"  No.  Ill  Nassau  Street,  Eoom  15.  Here 
is  my  card.  When  you  come  to  New  York, 
call  and  see  me." 

^*  I  shall  do  so,  though  it  may  be  some  time 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  117 

in  the  future.  Do  you  think  I  could  get  any- 
thing to  do  in  New  York?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  perhaps  not  enough  to  pay  your 
expenses." 

"  I  find  the  same  trouble  here." 

"  You  have  been  at  work  in  the  shoe  fac- 
tory, I  believe." 

"Yes;  but  I  have  been  discharged.  My 
place  has  been  taken  by  a  machine.'^ 

"  That  is  unfortunate.  Is  there  no  other 
opening  in  Lakeville?  " 

"  I  have  not  found  any  yet." 

"  I  will  keep  your  case  in  mind,  and  if  I 
hear  of  anything  I  will  let  you  know." 

When  Squire  Marlowe  returned  home  from 
the  trial,  his  wife  inquired  with  interest, 
"  How  did  the  case  come  out?  " 

"  The  boy  was  acquitted,"  answered  her  hus- 
band shortly. 

"Acquitted!  Why,  you  thought  it  was  a 
close  case." 

"  So  I  did,  but  it  came  out  on  the  trial  that 
there  were  two  twenty-dollar  bills,  and  the  one 
which  the  Barton  boy  presented  was  left  for 
him  by  Uncle  Jacob." 

"  By  that  old  man?  Why,  I  thought  he  was 
poor." 

"  So  he  is — worth  only  five  hundred  dollars, 


ii8  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

and  he  is  making  ducks  and  drakes  of  that  as 
fast  as  he  can." 

"  And  then  he  will  fall  back  on  you?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Then  I  hope  you  will  let  him  go  to  the 
poor  house,"  said  Mrs.  Marlowe  with  energy. 

"  I  shall.  I  have  no  pity  for  a  man  who 
throws  away  his  money." 

Percy  came  home  to  dinner  in  lively  spirits. 
He  was  free  from  anxiety,  and  felt  that  he  had 
been  remarkably  fortunate. 

"Were  you  at  the  trial,  Percy?"  asked  his 
mother. 

"  No,  ma." 

"  I  thought  you  w^ould  be  interested  in  see- 
ing that  boy  on  trial." 

"  I  was  sorry  for  him,  and  didn't  want  to 
be  present." 

"  Sorry  for  him?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  felt  sure  he  had  not  taken  the 
money." 

"  Seems  to  me  this  is  a  new  streak,  Percy," 
said  the  squire.  "  I  thought  you  didn't  like 
Bert  Barton." 

"  I  am  not  intimate  with  him,  for  he  is  only 
a  working  boy;  but  all  the  same  I  don't  want 
him  convicted  when  he  is  innocent." 

"  It  is  a  mystery  to  me  who  could  have 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  119 

taken  the  other  twenty-dollar  bill,"  said  the 
squire.     "  Can  you  think  of  anybody?  " 

"No;  how  should  I?"  returned  Percy, 
nearly  swallowing  a  spoonful  of  soup  the 
wrong  wa}'. 

"  There  are  so  few  people  in  the  village,  that 
it  must  be  some  one  we  know." 

"  Perhaps  old  Jones  didn't  lose  any  money, 
after  all." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  on  that  point.  The 
stolen  bill  has  been  returned  to  him  in  an 
envelope  by  Sam  Doyle." 

"Is  that  so?"  exclaimed  Percy,  counter- 
feiting surprise.  "  Why,  it  must  be  the  same 
envelope  Sam  showed  me." 

"  He  showed  you  the  envelope?  " 

"Yes;  he  picked  it  up  by  the  roadside.  It 
was  directed  in  pencil  to  Mr.  Jones.  So  that 
contained  the  stolen  bill?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  perhaps  it  was  taken  in  joke." 

"A  poor  joke!  No;  the  thief  got  alarmed, 
and  took  that  way  of  returning  it.  I  sug- 
gested to  Jones  that  the  handwriting  on  the 
envelope  might  furnish  a  clew  to  the  thief." 

"  What  did  he  say?  "  asked  Percy,  alarmed. 

"  He  said  he  should  do  nothing  about  it, 
now  that  he  had  the  money  back." 

"  I  guess  he's  right,"  said  Percy,  relieved. 


,.», 


120  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

In  the  afternoon  Bert  met  Percy  in  the 
street.    He  advanced  cordially. 

"  Well,  Percy,  I  got  free,  after  all." 

"  Yes,  I  am  glad  of  it." 

"  I  feel  grateful  to  you  for  believing  in  my 
innocence." 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  Percy,  in  a  patronizing 
tone.  "  Even  if  you  are  a  working  boy,  I  was 
sure  you  wouldn't  steal." 

Bert's  feelings  cooled  a  little.  Somehow 
Percy's  manner  kept  him  aloof. 

"  Yes,  I  am  a  working  boy,"  he  replied,  "  or 
at  any  rate  I  would  like  to  be,  but  I  don't  find 
it  easy  to  get  work." 

"Just  so!  If  I  hear  of  anything  I  will  let 
you  know.    Good-morning!" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  Percy," 
thought  Bert,  perplexed.  "  He  was  as  kind 
as  he  could  be  this  morning,  and  now  he  is 
ofiQsh.  At  any  rate,  he  didn't  believe  me 
guilty,  and  I  won't  forget  that  in  a  hurry." 

Two  more  weeks  passed,  and  Bert  still 
found  himself  unable  to  find  employment. 
Berries  had  become  so  plenty  that  he  was  un- 
able to  sell  any,  and  only  picked  some  for  con- 
sumption at  home.  The  sum  of  money  which 
had  been  received  from  Uncle  Jacob  gradually 
dwindled,  and  Bert  became  alarmed.  What 
would  they  do  when  it  was  all  gone?    He  had 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  121 

no  doubt  that  Uncle  Jacob  would  give  them 
further  assistance,  if  appealed  to,  but  both 
he  and  his  mother  felt  that  it  would  be  an 
imposition  on  the  old  man,  with  his  limited 
fund  of  money,  to  ask  anything  more  of  him. 

"  I  don't  want  any  more  of  Uncle  Jacob's 
money,  mother,"  said  Bert ;  "  but  I  should 
like  to  ask  him  if  he  could  find  me  a  place  in 
New  York." 

"  I  couldn't  bear  to  have  you  leave  me, 
Bert." 

''  But  I  must  take  work  wherever  I  can  find 
it." 

So  Bert  with  his  mother's  permission,  wrote 
to  Uncle  Jacob,  informing  him  of  his  dis- 
charge from  the  factory,  and  his  desire  to  ob- 
tain work  elsewhere.  This  letter  reached 
Jacob  Marlowe,  and  led  to  his  writing  as  fol- 
lows to  the  squire: 

Nephew  Albert: 

I  hear  by  a  letter  from  Lakeville  that  you 
have  discharged  Bert  Barton  from  your  em- 
ployment, and  that  he  cannot  secure  any  other 
kind  of  work.  I  am  surprised  that  you  should 
treat  Mary's  bo}^  in  this  manner,  considering 
the  relationship  that  exists  between  you.  T 
appeal  to  your  better  nature  to  reinstate  him 
in  his  old  place,     I  can  assure  you  that  you 


122  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

will  have  no  cause  to  regret  it.  I  have  steady 
work  here,  and  am  quite  well  satisfied  with  my 
position  and  prospects. 

Jacob  Marlowe. 

"  The  stupid  old  meddler !  "  ejaculated  the 
squire,  throwing  the  letter  from  him  in  impa- 
tience. "  I  suppose  the  Barton  boy  has  been 
writing  to  him.  He  evidently  considers  it  my 
duty  to  support  all  my  poor  relations,  himself 
included.  I  will  undeceive  him  on  that  point." 
He  drew  writing  materials  toward  him  and 
wrote  as  follows: 

Uncle  Jacob: 

I  have  received  your  letter  asking  me  to  re- 
instate the  Barton  boy  in  his  old  place.  This 
is  a  business  matter,  and  I  don't  permit  any 
interference  with  my  business.  I  may  add 
that,  even  if  he  is  a  poor  relation,  I  do  not  feel 
called  upon  to  support  all  my  needy  relations. 
I  am  glad  you  have  obtained  a  situation  in 
which  you  can  make  an  honest  living.  I  hope 
you  will  keep  it,  and  won't  squander  the  small  ( 
sum  of  money  you  have  in  reserve. 
Yours,  etc., 

Albert  Marlowe. 

When  Uncle  Jacob  read  this  letter,  he 
smiled. 

"  It  is  what  I  expected,  "  he  said  to  himself. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  123 

"  Albert  Marlowe  is  tfiorougfily  selfish,  and 
so,  I  think,  are  his  wife  and  son.  I  must  find 
some  other  way  of  helping  Bert." 

The  day  succeeding  the  receipt  of  Uncle 
Jacob's  letter,  the  squire  met  Bert  in  the  post- 
ofiSce. 

"  Have  you  been  writing  to  Jacob  Mar- 
lowe? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  suppose  you  asked  him  to  urge  me  to 
take  you  back  into  the  factory?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"At  any  rate,  he  has  done  so;  but  I  allow 
no  one  to  interfere  in  my  business  affairs. 
You  hear,  do  you?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  remember  it !  "  and  Squire  Marlowe 
turned  his  back  rudely  upon  Bert. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  for  you,  Bert  I "  said  the 
postmaster. 

Bert  opened  the  letter  in  some  surprise,  and 
read  it  with  interest  and  excitement. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

BERT  OBTAINS  WORK. 

To  begin  with,  the  letter,  which  Bert  so  un- 
expectedly received,  contained  a  ten-dollar 
bill. 


124  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"It  must  be  from  Uncle  Jacob!"  he 
thought.  lie  turned  to  the  next  page,  and 
looked  for  the  signature.  It  was,  as  he  antici- 
pated, Jacob  Marlowe.  It  was  brief,  as  will 
be  seen  from  the  copy  given  below : 

My  Dear  Nephew: 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  have  lost  your 
place  in  the  factory.  I  think  Albert  Marlowe 
might  at  any  rate  have  retained  you,  knowing 
how  much  you  and  your  mother  needed  your 
weekly  wages.  I  have  written  to  him,  asking 
him  to  take  you  back  into  the  shop,  but  I  do 
not  suppose  he  will.  It  is  more  to  test  him 
than  anything  else  that  I  have  made  the  re- 
quest. But,  at  any  rate,  we  will  give  him  a 
chance  to  deal  considerately.  Next  week, 
Thursday,  if  you  should  not  have  found  work, 
come  up  to  the  city  and  seek  me  at  the  office 
where  I  am  employed,  No.  Ill  Nassau  Street, 
Room  19,  and  I  may  have  it  in  my  power  to 
employ  you  in  an  important  matter.  Bring 
-  all  your  clothes  with  you,  but  take  only  money 
*  enough  to  get  to  the  city,  leaving  the  balance 
with  your  mother.  Give  my  love  to  her,  and 
tell  her  to  keep  up  good  courage. 

Your  affectionate  uncle, 

Jacob  Marlowe. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  125 

"  I  am  to  go  to  New  York!"  thought  Bert 
joyfully.  "  Perhaps  Uncle  Jacob  will  find  me 
a  place  there.  I  shall  enjoy  that  ever  so 
much.  Let  me  see,  I  am  to  go  next  week, 
Thursday,  and  it  is  now  Saturday.  I  wish 
the  time  had  come !  " 

Of  course,  Bert  carried  the  letter  home  and 
showed  it  to  his  mother, 

"  How  kind  Uncle  Jacob  is ! "  she  mur- 
mured. "  But  I  am  afraid  he  is  too  generous. 
He  is  a  poor  man.  He  cannot  afford  to  be  giv- 
ing us  money  all  the  time." 

"  He  is  earning  a  good  salary,  you  know, 
mother." 

"  Only  twelve  dollars  a  week,  Bert." 

"  But  that  is  a  good  deal.  If  I  were  earn- 
ing twelve  dollars  a  week  I  should  feel  rich." 

"  It  doesn't  go  very  far  in  a  large  and  ex- 
pensive city  like  New  York." 

"  I  could  save  half  of  it,  if  I  had  it.  Would 
you  mind  much,  mother,  if  I  should  take  a 
place  in  New  York?  " 

"  It  would  be  terribly  lonely  for  me,  Bert,'' 
sighed  Mrs.  Barton. 

"  But  you  Avould  not  oppose  it?  " 

"  Not  if  your  Uncle  Jacob  thought  it  best. 
He  seems  to  be  our  only  friend  just  now." 

"  Yes ;  I  don't  know  what  we  should  have 
done  without  him," 


126  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

On  Monday  morning,  considerably  to  his 
surprise,  Bert  received  an  offer  of  employ- 
ment. 

About  a  mile  from  his  mother's  cottage  lived 
Silas  Wilson,  an  old  farmer  about  sixty  years 
of  age,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  one  of 
the  meanest  men  in  Lakeville.  Even  his 
horses  and  cows  had  a  hungry  look,  and  it 
w\is  easy  to  see  that  they  were  not  pampered 
or  injured  by  over-feeding.  This  was  the  man 
who  stopped  his  farm  wagon  in  front  of  Mrs. 
Barton's  dwelling,  and  spoke  to  Bert,  who 
was  just  coming  out  of  the  front  door. 

"  Here,  you,  Bert  Barton  !  " 

"  Good-morning,  Mr,  Wilson,"  replied  Bert. 

"  Squire  Marlowe  tells  me  you  are  out  of  a 
job." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  I've  been  tainkin'  I  could  give  you 
work  on  my  farm." 

Bert  was  not  overjoyed  at  this  announce- 
ment, but  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  take  into 
consideration  any  offer  that  might  be  made  to 
him. 

"  Would  you  expect  me  to  board  at  your 
house?  "  he  asked. 

"  Sartin!     All  my  boys  board  with  me." 

"  How  much  wages  would  you  be  willing  to 
pay?" 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  127 

"  Fifty  cents  a  v/eek  and  board.  I  calculate 
that  Avoald  be  about  right." 

"  Fifty  cents  a  v.eek  and  board?  "  repeated 
Bert,  by  no  means  dazzled  by  the  tempting 
offer. 

"  Yes.     What  do  you  say?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  be  willing  to  work  for  that." 

"  You  wouldn't,  hey?  "  What  did  you  get  in 
the  shoe  shop?  " 

"  Four  dollars  a  week." 

"  Board's  worth  that,  so  I  give  you  what's 
equal  to  four  dollars  and  a  half." 

Bert  had  heard  something  of  the  kind  of 
board  supplied  by  the  farmer,  and  he  was 
hardly  prepared  to  rate  it  so  high. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  worth  that  to  me,"  he  said. 
"  I  would  rather  work  for  three  dollars  and  a 
half  in  cash,  and  board  at  home." 

"  I've  got  to  have  ray  boy  in  the  house," 
said  Silas  Wilson  decidedly.  "  Come,  now, 
what  do  you  say?  " 

He  regarded  Bert  with  some  anxiety,  for 
he  had  been  suddenly  left  in  the  lurch  by 
a  hired  man  who  had  received  a  better  offer 
elsewhere,  and  hardly  knew  where  to  turn  for 
assistance. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said  Bert. 
"  I've  got  to  go  to  New  York  on  Thursday  on 
business,  but  I'll  come  and  work  for  you  till 


128  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Wednesday  night  for  half  a  dollar  and  my 
board." 

"  I'll  give  you  thirty-five  cents,"  replied  the 
farmer  cautiously. 

Bert  shook  his  head. 

"  Forty,  then,  and  that's  high  pay  for  a  half- 
grown  boy." 

"  I'm  more  than  half  grown,"  returned  Bert. 
"  It's  no  use,  Mr.  Wilson,  I  won't  take  less 
than  fifty  cents." 

"  Then  jump  on  the  wagon.  It's  a  big  price 
to  pay,  but  I'm  in  a  hole,  and  won't  stop  to 
dicker." 

"  I  will  go  and  tell  my  mother  first." 

"  Well,  hurry  up,  for  part  of  the  day  is 
gone  already." 

''  I  don't  believe  you'll  like  it,  Bert,"  said 
Mrs.  Barton. 

''  Nor  I,  but  I  made  up  my  mind  to  accept 
the  first  offer  I  got,  and  I  shall  feel  better  sat- 
isfied if  I  keep  my  word.  I'll  come  round  this 
1  evening,  after  work,  and  tell  you  how  I  like 
it  as  far  as  I've  got." 

Bert  seated  himself  in  the  v/agon  next  to  the 
farmer. 

"  Be  you  the  boy  that  Jones  charged  with 
stealin'?  "  asked  Silas. 

"  Yes,  sir." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  129 

"You  didn't  do  it?"  asked  Silas,  in  some 
,  apprehension. 

.'  "  No,  of  course  not  I  "  answered  Bert,  indig- 
nantly. "  Didn't  you  know  I  was  acquitted, 
and  that  it  was  shown  that  there  were  two 
twenty-dollar  bills? '' 

"  It's  wicked  to  steal,"  observed  the  farmer, 
apparently  a  little  anxious  still. 

"  (3f  course  it  is.'' 

"  One  of  the  boys  that  worked  for  me  stole 
some  money  from  a  chest-of-drawers  in  my 
chamber.  You  see  Mis'  Wilson  and  me  sleep 
in  a  bedroom  on  the  first  floor  openin'  out  of 
the  settin'  room." 

"Did  the  boy  take  much?"  asked  Bert,  in 
some  curiosity. 

"Yes;  he  took  a  twenty-five  cent  piece," 
ans-^-ered  Silas  Wilson,  soberly. 

Bert  wanted  to  laugh,  but  controlled  his 
facial  muscles,  though  he  eyed  his  companion 
with  a  queer  look. 

"  That  was  a  good  deal  of  money,"  he  said, 
soberly. 

"  Yes,  it  was." 

"  How  did  you  find  him  out — the  boy,  I 
mean?  " 

"  He  spent  the  money  at  Jones's  store." 

"  What  did  he  buy  with  it?  " 

"  He  bought  some  doughnuts." 


1^0  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Did  he  board  with  you?  "  asked  Bert  sig- 
nificantlj. 

"  Yes,  he  did.'* 

"  Then/'  thought  Bert,  "  I  don't  wonder 
much  that  he  was  tempted." 

"  I've  got  fifty  cents  in  my  pocket,''  he  said 
aloud,  producing  the  coin,  "  I  show  it  to  you, 
so  that  if  you  hear  of  my  spending  money  you 
needn't  think  I  took  it  from  you." 

Silas  Wilson  eyed  the  half-dollar  with  a 
covetous  look,  which  the  sight  of  money  al- 
ways brought  to  his  face. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  give  ^t  'm  me  to  keep 
for  you?  " 

"  No,  thank  you;  I  am  very  careful.  1  shall 
not  lose  it." 

"  Boys  ginerally  are  keerless.  They  are  apt 
to  lose  money." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  ever  lose  money,  Mr. 
WilsoD  " 

"  Not  since  I  was  a  boy.  I  lost  two  cents 
**  once,  but  it  was  a  lesson  to  me,  and  I've  never 
lost  a  copper  since." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  farm- 
house. The  farmer  drove  into  the  barn  and 
put  up  the  horse. 

"  Now  we'll  go  to  work,"  he  said. 

The  work  which  awaited  Bert  »Yas  in  the 
cornfield.     He  was  set  to  hoeing,  and  kept  it 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  131 

up  for  three  hours,  along  with  the  farmer  in 
the  adjoining  row.  Noon  came,  and  Silas, 
pausing  in  his  work,  said:  ''I  calculate  Mis' 
Wilson  will  have  dinner  ready.  We'll  go  to 
the  house." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Bert's  experience  as  a  farmer's  boy. 

Bert  followed  the  farmer  into  the  kitchen, 
in  the  center  of  which  a  table  was  set.  A 
bony  and  angular  woman  was  just  placing  on 
it  a  large  pitcher  of  water. 

"  Mis'  WMlson,"  said  the  farmer,  "  this  is 
Bert  Barton,  who  is  helping  me  about  the 
farm  work." 

Bert  was'  no  stranger  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  whose 
pew  in  church  was  near  the  one  he  occupied. 

"How's  your  ma?"  she  inquired  jerkily. 

"  Pretty  well,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Wilson." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  She  looks  like  a 
friend  of  mine,  Mrs.  Dusenberry,  who  died  of 
heart  disease." 

"  I  don't  think  her  heart  is  affected,"  said 
Bert,  not  without  anxiety. 

"  Maybe  not,  but  you  can't  tell.  Folks 
lives  along  for  years  with  their  hearts  out  -f 
kilter,  who  never  find  it  out  till  some  day  they 
drop  dead." 

Mrs.  Wilson  decidedly  was  not  a  cheerful 


132  Five  Hundred  Dollars.  , 

converser.  She  prided  herself  on  detecting 
signs  of  unsuspected  diseases. 

"  Mebbe  you've  got  heart  disease  yourself, 
Sophia,"  remarked  the  farmer  jocosely. 

"  Just  as  likely  as  not,"  answered  Mrs.  ViW- 
son  calmly.  "  I'm  sure  my  liver's  affected, 
for  I  feel  it  squirm  sometimes." 

"  Mebbe  I'd  better  look  out  for  a  second 
Mis'  Wilson,"  suggested  the  farmer  smiling. 

"  You  ain't  over  healthy  yourself,  Silas," 
responded  his  better  half,  surveying  her  hus- 
band in  a  business-like  manner.  "  It  looks  to 
me  as  if  your  kidneys  was  out  of  order,  and 
you're  the  very  image  of  Jed  Pettibone,  who 
died  of  apoplexy.  He  lived  next  door  to  my 
mother.  One  day  he  was  alive  and  well,  and 
to-morrow  he  was  as  the  grass  of  the  field.'* 

The  farmer's  face  wore  a  very  uncomfort- 
able look,  and  he  was  evidently  by  no  means 
pleased  with  his  wife's  prognostications. 

"  Nonsense!  "  he  said  testily.  ''  I'm  as  well 
as  any  man  of  my  age  in  Lakeville." 

"  '  Boast  not  thyself  of  to-morrow  ' !  " 
quoted  Mrs.  Wilson  solemnly. 

"  Come,  Bert,  let  us  set  down  to  dinner," 
said  Silas  hastily.  "  What  have  you  got  for 
us,   Sophia?" 

"  I've  warmed  over  them  beans  we  had  yes- 
terday," answered  his  helpmeet,  "and  there's 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  13^ 

two   sausages   besides'.       I   don't   want   any. 
You'd  ought  to  make  a  dinner  off  of  that." 

"  Why,  to  be  sure !  Beans  and  sausages  is 
hearty,  and  will  stand  by  us  in  the  field.  The 
laborer  is  worthy  of  his  meat," 

"  Where's  the  meat,''  thought  Bert. 

Silas  Wilson  put  a  moderate  portion  of 
beans  on  a  large  plate,  flanking  it  with  a 
thin,  consumptive-looking  sausage. 

"  Help  yourself  to  potatoes,"  he  said,  as  he 
handed  the  plate  to  Bert. 

Bert  availed  himself  of  the  invitation,  and 
helped  himself  to  a  potato  in  that  condition 
known  as  soggy.  He  tried  to  eat  it,  but. 
though  fond  of  potatoes,  he  left  it  almost  en- 
tire on  his  plate.  This,  however,  was  not  all. 
There  was  a  plate  of  rye-bread  on  the  table, 
from  which  Bert  helped  himself  to  a  slice.  It 
was  apparently  two  or  three  days  old,  and 
needed  something  to  make  it  palatable. 

"  Please  give  me  some  butter,"  asked  Bert, 
not  having  observed  that  this  was  a  prohibited 
article  on  the  Wilsons'  dinner  table. 

"  There  ain't  none,"  answered  Mrs.  Wilson 
promptly. 

"  I  beg  pardon.  I  hadn't  noticed,"  said 
Bert,  blushing. 

"We  never  have  butter  at  dinner,"  ex- 
plained Silas  Wilson.     "  It's  apt  to  lead  to 


134  I^ive  Hundred  Dollars. 

humors,  particularly  in  boys,  isn't  it,  Mis' 
Wilson?  " 

"  So  I've  always  hrard,  Silas'.  Besides,  as 
we  have  it  at  breakfast  and  supper,  that's 
enough.  It  goes  fast  enough,  even  then. 
Why,  we  used  most  a  pound  last  week." 

"And  butter  twenty-seven  cents  a  pound!'' 
chimed  in  the  farmer.  "  Why,  it's  extrava- 
gant!" 

"  Do  you  know,  Silas,  how  much  butter  is 
used  in  Squire  Marlowe's  family?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  farmer,  with  interest. 

"  Hannah — Mrs.  Marlowe's  girl — told  me 
they  used  six  pounds  and  a  half  last  week, 
and  there's  only  four  of  them,  including  the 
girl.    What  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

"What  do  I  think?  I  think  it's  sinful— 
positively  sinful !  Six  pounds  and  a  half  at 
twenty-seven   cents " 

"  They  pay  thirty-two,  and  get  the  best  in 
the  market,"  amended  his  wife. 

"  W^orse  and  worse !  That  comes  to  what — 
Bert?  " 

"  Two  dollars  and  eight  cents,"  answered 
Bert  promptly. 

"  Sho !     Did  you  ever?  " 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  the  squire  can  stand  it.  No 
doubt  they  live  on  the  fat  of  the  land.  I  just 
wish  they'd  invite  me  to  tea,  so  I  could  judge 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  135 

for  mjsolf.  I  could  tell  within  five  cents  how 
much  the  supper  cost." 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Bert  did  not  en- 
joy his  dinner.  The  sausage  was  far  from  rich 
or  juicy,  and  the  beans  were  almost  cold.  The 
potatoes  and  bread  have  already  been  referred 
to.  However,  there  was  to  be  a  second  course, 
and  to  that  Bert  looked  forward  anxiously,  for 
he  had  by  no  means  satisfied  his  appetite.  It 
was  a  plain  r'ce  pudding,  and  partially  satis- 
factory, for  it  takes  very  little  skill  to  boil 
rice,  and  there  is  little  variety  in  the  qual- 
ity. By  way  of  sauce  Mrs.  Wilson  provided 
cheap  grade  of  molasses.  Still  Bert  enjoyed 
it  better  than  any  other  article  on  the  table. 

"  There's  nothing  like  a  good  dinner  to 
strengthen  us  for  the  labors  of  the  field,"  said 
Silas  Wilson  complacently,  as  he  rose  from 
the  table.  "  Come,  Bert,  now  let  us  get  to 
work  to  make  up  for  lost  time." 

"  So  Mr.  Wilson  considers  the  time  spent 
in  eating  as  lost  time,"  thought  Bert.  "  I'd 
rather  have  one  of  mother's  dinners  than  half 
a  dozen  like  this.  Ugh !  how  nasty  those  pota- 
toes were." 

Bert  returned  to  the  field,  and  resumed  his 
work.  He  found  it  hard  to  keep  up  with  Silas 
Wilson,  whose  energies  seemed  to  be  quick- 
ened by  his  midday  meal. 


136  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

About  four  o'clock  a  man  came  along  who 
wanted  to  see  Silas  on  business,  and  he  went 
&  back  to  the  house,  leaving  Bert  to  continue  his 
work  alone. 

"  This  is  about  the  longest  day  I  ever 
passed,"  thought  Bert,  pausing  to  wipe  his 
moistened  forehead.  "  I  am  afraid  I  shall 
never  want  to  be  a  farmer.  I  mustn't  for- 
get, though,  that  I  am  to  receive  sixteen  cents 
and  a  little  over  per  day,  besides  board — and 
such  board!  Yet  this  is  the  way  Silas  Wilson 
has  lived  all  his  life,  and  he  must  be  sixty-five 
at  least.  How  much  more  enjoyment  Uncle 
Jacob  has  out  of  life,  though  he  is  a  poor  man 
compared  to  the  farmer." 

At  this  moment  he  heard  wheels'  passing  on 
the  road  hard  by,  and  looking  up  he  recog- 
nized Percy  Marlowe,  neat  and  trim  in  hU 
attire,  driving  a  light  buggy. 

*'  Hallo ! "  called  out  Percy,  checking  his 
horse. 

"  Hallo,  Percy ! " 

"Are  you  working  for  Silas  Wilson?" 

"  Yes,  for  a  few  days." 

"  I  guess  you'll  make  a  f 01  tune  in  that 
time?"  said  Percy  laughing. 

"  It  seems  like  it,"  responded  Bert. 

"How  much  does  he  pay  you?" 

"  Fifty  cents  for  three  days  and  board." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  137 

Percy  laughed. 

"  I  should  want  fifty  cents  an  hour,  and 
then  I  wouldn't  do  it." 

"  I'd  work  all  the  year  round  at  that  price/' 
said  Bert. 

"  I  never  expect  to  work — with  my  hands," 
went  on  Percy. 

"  Have  you  decided  what  to  do? "  asked 
Bert  curiously. 

"  My  father  wants  me  to  be  a  manufacturer, 
but  I  think  I  shall  be  a  lawyer." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shan't  have  much  choice.  I 
must  take  what  I  can  get." 

"  You  might  stay  with  Mr.  Wilson  and  be  a 
farmer." 

"  I  don't  think  that  will  suit  me  at  any  rate, 
unless  I  can  work  for  a  different  man." 

"  Perhaps  father  can  take  you  back  into  the 
shop  when  you   are  older." 

"  I  wish  he  would  take  me  back  now.  I  like 
it  a  great  deal  better  than  working  out  in  the 
field  here." 

"  You   mustn't  get   too  bigh   notions   into 
your  head,  Bert.    You  know  you  are  a  work-  ' 
ing  boy  and  mustn't  expect  to  have  things  all 
your  own  way." 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  that  I  am  a  work- 
ing boy,  especially  with  kind  friends  to  re- 
mind me  of  it.    But  we  live  in  the  best  coun- 


#: 


138  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

trj  in  the  world,  and  there  is  many  a  working 
boy  who  grows  up  to  be  a  distinguished  man." 

Percy  laughed  ironically. 

"  I  wouldn't  get  such  silly  ideas  into  your 
head,  he  said. 

"Why  are  they  silly?" 

"  You  talk  as  if  you  expected  to  be  a  distin- 
guished man.    Ha,  ha  !  " 

"  I  hope  to  be  a  successful  man,"  answered 
Bert  stoutly. 

Percy  laughed  again  and  drove  on.  Five 
minutes  later  Bert  saw  the  farmer  running 
from  the  house  in  a  state  of  great  apparent 
excitement. 

"Have  you  seen  anything  of  my  wallet?" 
he  gasped,  as  he  came  within  hearing  dis- 
tance. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

BERT  IS  PLACED  IN  AN  EMBARRASSING 
POSITION. 

Bert  regarded  his  employer  with  surprise. 

"  Your   wallet?  "  he  repeated.  ; 

"  Yes,"  answered  Silas  Wilson  impatiently. 
*'  I  had  it  in  my  pocket  when  I  w^as  at  w^ork 
here.  I  didn't  think  about  it  till  just  now, 
after  Mr.  Dexter  had  left  me.  Then  I  found 
that  my  pocket  was  empty." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  131) 

"  I  haven't  seen  it,  but  jou  may  have 
dropped  it  somewhere." 

"  Just  help  me  look  for  it.  Has  anybody 
been  here?  " 

"  No ;  at  least  not  in  the  field.  Percy  Mar- 
lowe passed  in  his  buggy,  and " 

"  Never  mind  about  that.  Help  me  look  for 
the  wallet." 

The  rows  of  corn  were  of  considerable 
length,  and  there  were  a  good  many  of  them. 
At  least  ten  minutes  elapsed  before  anything 
was  seen  of  the  missing  article,  and  dark  sus- 
picions of  his  young  assistant  entered  the 
mind  of  Mr.  Wilson.  But  at  last  Bert's 
sharp  eyes  espied  a  faded  leather  wallet  be- 
tween two  hills  in  one  of  the  rows  which  the 
farmer  had  hoed. 

"  Is  this  it?"  he  asked,  holding  it  up  in  his 
hand. 

'*  Yes ! "  exclaimed  Silas  delighted. 
"  Where  did  you  find  it?  " 

"  JiTst  here." 

Mr.  Wilson  opened  it,  anxious  to  see 
whether  the  contents  were  intact. 

"  It's  all  safe,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Was  there  much  money  in  it? "  asked 
Bert. 

"Yes;  two  dollars  and  sixty-seven  cents. 


140  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

It's  a  narrow  escape!  Suppose  a  dislionest 
person   had    found   it? " 

"  It  would  have  been  terrible ! "  said  Bert, 
successfully  checking  his  disposition  to  laugh. 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Bert,  for  fiudin' 
it.     I  suppose  you  don't  want  any  reward?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  I  am  working  for  you,  you  know, 
and  it  wasn't  my  own  time  I  w^as  using." 

"  That's  true  I  Still,  I  am  willin'  to  give 
you  two  cents  to  encourage  you  to  be  honest." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Wilson;  but  I  don't  need 
any  reward   for   that." 

"  You're  a  good  boy,  and  -'f  you  stay  with 
me  I'll  make  a  man  of  you." 

"Thank  you." 

Bert  was  privately  of  opinion  that  if  he  re- 
mained till  the  age  of  twenty-one  in  Silas  Wil- 
son's employ,  boarding  at  his  table,  he  would 
grow  into  a  very  thin,  under-sized  man  in- 
deed. 

Supper  was  a  less  substantial  meal  tha? 
dinner  in  the  Wilson  household,  consisting  of 
bread  and  butter  and  tea,  with  the  addition  of 
a  plate  of  doughnuts,  which  were  so  tough 
and  hard  that  it  occurred  to  Bert  that  they 
would  make  very  good  baseballs  if  they  had 
been  of  the  right  shape. 

A-fter  supper  he  went  home  for  an  hour. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  141 

"  Don't  3011  feel  very  tired,  Bert?  "  asked 
his  mother. 

"  Yes,  mother,  but  I  feel  still  more  hungry. 
If  you've  got  anything  left  from  supper  1 
think  I  can  dispose  of  it." 

"  Certainly,  Bert ;  but  didn't  you  eat  supper 
at  Mr.  Wils^ons?'' 

"  Mother,  they  don't  know  what  good  living 
is  there.  I'd  rather  have  one  of  your  suppers 
than  a  dozen  of  Mr.  Wilson's.  I  begin  t(i 
think  that  the  board  part  won't  be  worth 
over  fifty  cents  for  three  days.  I  am  sure  it 
won't  cost  them  any  more." 

"  I  wish  you  were  going  to  sleep  here,  Bert. 
I  shall  feel  lonely." 

"  So  do  I,  but  I  shall  only  be  away  two 
nights.  Silas  Wilson  promises  to  make  a  man 
of  me  if  I'll  stay,  but  I'd  rather  grow  to  man- 
hood somewhere  else." 

Bert  returned  to  the  farm-house,  and  about 
half-past  eight  went  to  bed.  lie  knew  he 
musjt  be  early  astir,  and  he  felt  fatigued  by  his 
day  of  labor  in  the  field.  Besides,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  WMlson  went  to  bed  at  this  hour.  The 
farmer  was  not  fond  of  reading,  nor  indeed 
was  there  anything  in  the  house  to  read,  for 
neither  he  nor  his  wife  had  a  literary  taste. 
Once  he  took  an  agricultural  paper  for  a  yefir 
at  a  cost  of  two  dollars,  but  whenever  the 


142  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

paper  arrived  he  groaned  in  spirit  over  the 
cost,  and  deplored  his  extravagance  in  sub- 
scribing for  it. 

The  room  assigned  to  Bert  was  over  the 
kitchen,  which  was  in  the  ell  part.  The  roof 
was  sloping,  and,  toward  the  eaves,  very  low. 
There  was  one  window  near  the  bed  which  he 
occupied. 

Bert  went  to  sleep  in  ten  minutes,  and  slept 
soundly  for  three  or  four  hours.  Then  some- 
thing roused  him,  and  he  opened  his  eyes. 
What  he  saw  startled  him.  By  the  bright 
moonlight  he  perceived  a  man  climbing  in  at 
the  window. 

To  say  that  Bert  was  perfectly  calm  would 
not  be  true.  He  was  very  much  startled,  as  I 
think  almost  any  bo}',  or  man  either,  would 
have  been  under  the  circumstances. 

"  It  is  a  burglar  I  "  thought  Bert  in  excite- 
ment.    "What   can   I   do?" 

Some  one  evidently  had  heard  of  Silas  Wil- 
son's miserly  disposition,  and  judged  that 
there  would  be  a  good  chance  to  secure  booty 
in  the  farm  house.  Bert,  though  he  did  not 
admire  Mr.  Wilson,  felt  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  protect  him  from  being  plundered,  if  possi- 
ble. He  knew  that  he  was  in  some  personal 
peril,  but  he  was  naturally  a  brave  boy,  aod 
Jiis  spirit  rose  to  the  occasiQp, 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  143 

He  waited  until  the  supposed  burglar  was 
in  the  room,  and  theu,  sitting  up  in  bed,  asked 
stoutly:  "Who  are  you?  What  brings  you 
here?  " 

The  man  turned  swiftly  toward  the  bed,  and 
fixed  his  eyes  on  Bert,  but  did  not  immediately 
speak. 

"  If  you  are  a  burglar,''  continued  Bert,  em- 
boldened by  the  man's  hesitation,  "  you  had 
better  get  out  of  the  window  again,  or  I  shall 
call  Mr.  Wilson." 

"  No,  don't  call  him,  at  least  not  yet,"  said 
the  intruder,  sinking  into  a  chair  a  few  feet 
from  the  bed.     "  Are  you  working  here?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Who  are  you?" 

This  seemed  a  singular  qutestion.  What 
could  his  name  matter  to  a  burglar?  How- 
ever, Bert  answered  mechanically,  "  My  name 
is  Bert  Barton." 

"  The  widow  Barton's  boy?  " 

"Yes;  how  do  you  know  that?"  demanded 
Bert,  in  bewilderment. 

"  Don't  you  know  me?  "  was  the  unexpected 
rejoinder. 

He  drew  nearer  to  the  bed,  and  Bert  gazed 
at  him  earnestly,  but  no  light  dawned  upon 
liim. 


144  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  you,"  he  said,  shaking 
his  head. 

"  I  am  Silas  Wilson's  son,"  said  the 
stranger. 

"  Phineas  Wilson?  " 

Now  Bert  remembered  that  eight  years  be- 
fore, the  farmer's  son,  a  man  grown,  had  left 
Lakeville,  and,  so  far  as  he  knew,  had  not  been 
heard  of  since.  He  had  contracted  a  habit  of 
drinking  and  had  tired  of  farm  work.  More' 
over,  when  he  left,  he  had  taken  fifty  dollars 
of  his  father's  money  with  him,  which  had  led 
to  bitter  feelings  on  the  part  of  the  farmer, 
who  appeared  to  mourn  the  loss  of  his  money 
more  than  that  of  his  son.  And  this  was  the 
young  man  who  had  crept  into  his  father's 
house  like  a  thief  in  the  night. 

"  Why  did  you  get  into  my  window?  "  asked 
Bert.     "  Why  didn't  you  come  to  the  door?  " 

"  I — didn't  know  if  I  would  be  welcome.  I 
wanted  to  ask.  Do  you  know  how  my  father 
feels   toward   me?" 

"  No ;  I  have  only  been  here  one  day.  He 
ought  to  be  glad  to  see  his  son." 

"  I  took  some  money  with  me  when  I  went 
away,"  said  Phineas  hesitating.  "  Father's 
very  fond  of  money." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Bert. 

"  And  he  would  find  it  hard  to  forget  that." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  145 

"  Why  didn't  jou  come  back  before?  " 

"  I  didn't  dare  to  come  till  I  could  bring  the 
money.  I  have  got  it  with  me,  but  not  a  dol- 
lar more.  If  you  want  to  know  what  brings 
me  back,  look  in  my  face  and  see  for  your- 
self." 

The  moon  came  out  from  behind  a  cloud, 
and  by  its  light  Bert  saw  that  the  young  man's 
face  was  thin  and  ghastly. 

"  I  am  sick,"  he  said;  "  irregular  hours  and 
whiskey  have  done  their  work.  I  am  afraid 
I  have  got  to  pass  in  my  checks." 

"  What  does  that  mean — die?  " 

"  Yes." 

'^  Don't  give  up ! "  said  Bert,  feeling  his 
sympathies  go  out  toward  this  prodigal  son. 
"  You  are  young.  It  takes  a  good  deal  to  kill 
a  young  man." 

"  You're  a  good  fellow,  Bert.  That's  your 
name,  isn't  it?    Will  you  do  me  a  favor?" 

"To  be  sure  I  will." 

"  I  am  famished.  I  haven't  had  anything 
to  eat  for  twenty-four  hours*.  Can  you  slip 
downstairs  and  fetch  me  something  to  eat — 
no  matter  what — and  a  glass  of  milk?" 

Bert  hesitated.  He  could  get  what  was  re- 
quired in  the  pantry,  but  suppose  the  farmer 
or  his  wife  should  wake  up!  It  would  make 
his  position  a  very  awkward  one. 


146  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  go  down  yourself? " 
he  asked. 

"  I  can  hardly  stand,  I  am  so  tired.  Be- 
sides, I  don't  know  where  mother  keeps 
things." 

"I  will  try,"  said  Bert;  and  he  slipped  on 
his  pantaloons,  and  went  softly  downstairs. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE  MIDNIGHT  VISIT  TO  THE  PANTRY. 

"  Suppose  Mrs.  Wilson  sees  me?  "  thought 
Bert  uncomfortably.  "  She  will  take  me  for 
a  thief." 

He  was  actuated  by  the  kindest  motives,  but 
he  heartily  wished  his  errand  were  done.  As 
he  stepped  into  the  kitchen  he  heard  the  deep 
breathing  of  Mrs.  Wilson  and  the  noisy  snore 
of  her  husband,  and  rightly  judged  that  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  rouse  either  of  them.  He 
opened  the  pantry  door,  and  by  the  light  of  the 
moon  was  able  to  inspect  the  shelves.  There 
W'as  a  half  loaf  of  bread  on  one  shelf,  half  a 
dozen  doughnuts  on  a  plate  on  the  shelf  below, 
and  a  few  cold  beans  close  beside  them.  Then 
there  was  a  small  pitcher  half-full  of  milk. 

"  I  don't  think  the  beans  or  doughnuts  will 
set  well  on  an  empty  stomach,"  Bert  reflected. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  147 

"  I'd  better  take  the  milk  and  two  or  three 
slices  of  bread." 

Here  the  cat,  who  had  been  asleep  on  the 
hearth,  roused  herself,  perhaps  at  the  sight  of 
the  milk  pitcher,  and,  mewing  loudly,  rubbed 
herself  against  Bert's  legs. 

"  Scat !  "  cried  Bert,  in  a  lovr  voice,  anx- 
iously looking  toward  the  door  of  the  bed 
chamber  in  which  the  farmer  and  his  wife  lay 
asleep. 

The  cat  got  between  his  legs  and  nearly 
tripped  him  up,  but  he  managed  to  get  out  of 
the  room  and  upstairs.  Phineas  looked  at 
him  eagerly. 

"  I  have  some  bread  and  milk  here,"  said 
Bert.  '^  I  couldn't  find  any  butter.  There 
were  some  cold  beans  and  doughnuts,  but — " 

"  The  bread  and  milk  are  better.  Give 
them  to  me.     I  am  almost  famished." 

The  bread  was  dry  and  stale,  but  Phineas 
w^as  not  in  the  mood  to  be  particular.  He  ate 
like  one  famished,  and  drained  the  pitcher  to 
the  last  drop. 

"  I  feel  better,"  he  said  then,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  I  suppose  I  had  better  take  the  pitcher 
back  to  the  kitchen.  It  will  be  missed,"  re- 
flected Bert,  and  he  started  downstairs  again 
in  his  bare  feet.     He  paused  at  the  kitchea 


148  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

door,  and  heard  the  farmer  talking  in  hij 
sleep.  This  alarmed  him.  He  decided  that  it 
is, would  not  do  to  replace  the  pitcher  in  the 
pantry,  as  he  would  be  likely  to  be  heard.  He 
waited  where  he  was  for  five  minutes,  and 
then  ventured  into  the  kitchen.  This  time  he 
was  successful,  and  with  mind  relieved  re- 
turned to  his  chamber. 

Phineas  was  dozing  in  his  chair. 

"  You  had  better  get  into  the  bed,  Mr.  Wil 
son,"  said  Bert,  filled  with  compassion  for  the 
weary  wayfarer.     "  I'll  lie  on  the  floor." 

"  If  you  don't  mind.     I  am  fagged  out." 

Bert  made  a  pillow  of  his  coat  and  trousers^ 
and  stretched  himself  on  the  floor.  He  found 
that  there  was  an  inside  bolt,  with  which  ht 
fastened  the  door,  to  guard  against  any  unex- 
pected visit  from  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Wilson. 

He  fell  asleep  again,  and  was  only  roused 
by  a  loud  voice  at  the  foot  of  the  back  stairs, 

"  Time  to  get  up  I  "  called  the  farmer. 

"  All  right ! "  responded  Bert  in  a  loud 
tone. 

Fortunately  Silas  Wilson  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  come  up.  Had  he  done  so  it 
would  have  been  embarrassing,  for  Phineas 
was  sound  asleep  on  the  bed.  Bert  thought 
it  best  to  rouse  him  before  he  w^nt  down 
stairs, 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  149 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  some  one  will  come  up- 
stairs and  find  jou  here?"  he  asked. 

"No;  mother  never  comes  up  till  after  she 
has  got  breakfast  out  of  the  way  and  the 
dishes  washed." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  best,"  said  Bert 
doubtfully. 

"If  necessary  I  shall  tell  her  who  I  am." 

Bert  went  below,  and  sat  down  at  the  break- 
fast table.  It  was  clear  from  the  expression 
on  Mrs.  Wilson's  face  that  she  had  something 
on  her  mind. 

"  Silas,"  she  said  solemnly,  "  something 
mysterious  has  happened  during  the  night." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  farmer  in  a  tojie 
of  surprise. 

"  We  have  been  robbed !  " 

"  What  of?  "  he  asked,  turning  pale.  "  Do 
you  miss  any  of  the  spoons?  " 

"  No." 

"  Or — or  money?  "  and  he  pulled  out  his 
wallet  hurriedly. 

"  No,  no,  it  isn't  that." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"  I  left  that  pitcher  half  full  of  milk  when 
I  went  to  bed  last  night.  This  morning  there 
wasn't  a  drop  in  it,  and  the  pantry  door  was 
open." 

"  Cats  are  fond  of  m*lk,"  suggested  Silas, 


150  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

with  a  glance  at  Tabby,  who  was  lying  near 
\  the  fire-place. 

1  "It  wasn't  the  cat.  She  couldn't  get  her 
head  inside  the  pitcher.  Besides,  there  are 
three  slices  of  bread  missing." 

"Won't  cats  eat  bread?" 

"It  was  a  two-legged  cat!"  replied  Mrs. 
Wilson  significantly. 

Bert  reddened  in  spite  of  himself,  and  tried 
to  look  unconscious.  He  saw  that  Mrs.  Wil- 
son was  on  the  point  of  making  a  discovery, 
and  that  suspicion  was  likely  to  fall  upon 
him.  This  he  could  clear  up,  but  it  would  be 
at  the  expense  of  the  poor  fellow  who  was 
asleep  upstairs. 

"  But  how  could  anybody  get  into  the 
house?"  asked  Silas.  "The  doors  were 
locked,  weren't  they?  " 

"  Yes,  Silas.  In  forty  years  I  have  never 
failed  to  lock  the  door  before  I  went  to  bed." 

"  Then  I  don't  see " 

"  Nor  I — yet !  "  said  Mrs.  Wilson  signifi- 
cantly, and  Bert  thought — but  he  may  have 
been  mistaken — that  her  eyes  turned  for  a  mo- 
ment in  his  direction. 

"  At  any  rate  it  isn't  much  of  a  loss.  Was 
there  anything  else  in  the  closet?" 

"  There  were  some  doughnuts  and  beans." 

"Were  any  of  them  taken?*' 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  151 

"  No,  not  that  I  can  see." 

"  Cats  don't  care  for  them." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Silas!  That  poor  cat  had 
no  more  to  do  with  the  robbery  than  I  have." 

"  Mebbe  j^on're  ri<j;ht;  but  eats  have  been 
known  to  steal.     I  like  dogs  better  myself." 

"I  don't!"  cried  ?>Irs.  Wilson  with  em- 
phasis. '^'^  I'm  not  going  to  have  any  dog 
trapesing  over  my  floors  with  his  muddy  feet." 

"Just  as  you  like,  Sophia.  You'd  better 
lock  the  pantry  door  in  future." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  that  will  answer,  unless 
I  hide  the  key." 

"  Do  you  seriously  think  a  human  being 
took  the*^  things?  " 

"  Yes,   I  do — in  the  middle  of  the  night." 

"By  gracious!  that's  serious.  He  might 
have  come  into  our  room  and  taken  my  wallet 
and  watch.'' 

"And  maybe  murdered  us  in  our  beds!" 
added  Mrs.  Wilson  grimly. 

"  Did  you  hear  anybody  walking  round  the 
house  last  night,  Bert?"  asked  the  farmer, 
who  was  by  this  time  worked  up  into  a  state 
of  agitation. 

"  No,"  answered  Bert. 

"  I  am  glad  he  did  not  ask  me  whether  I 
saw  anybody,"  thought  he.  "  I  don't  want  to 
tell  a  lie." 


1 52  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  I  usually  sleep  pretty  sound,"  he  added,  a 
little  ashamed  of  liis  duplicity,  yet  not  know- 
ing how  else  to  avert  suspicions, 

"  So  we  all  do  I "  said  the  farmer's  wife. 
"  We  might  be  all  murdered  in  our  beds  with- 
out knowing  anything  about  it." 

"  I  shouldn't  want  to  know  anything  about 
it  if  that  was  going  to  happen/'  observed 
Silas,  not  without  reason.  "  I  don't  think  it 
could  have  been  a  very  desperate  ruffian,  if  he 
contented  himself  with  taking  bread  and 
milk." 

"  He  may  come  again  to-night,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Silas  fervently.  "  I — I 
couldn't  sleep  if  I  thought  so." 

"  We  must  get  to  the  bottom  of  this,"  went 
on  his  wife  resolutely.  "I  am  not  willing  to 
have  such  goings  on  in  my  house." 

*'  How  are  you  going  to  do  it,  Sophia? 
Probably  the  thief's  miles  off  by  this  time." 

"  He  may  be,  or  he  may  not  be!  "  said  Mrs. 
Wilson  in  an  oracular  tone. 

"  I've  heard  of  folks  walking  in  their  sleep," 
she  added,  after  a  pause. 

"  You  don't  mean  me?  "  asked  Silas. 

"  No;  if  you  did  it  I'd  have  had  a  chance  to 
find  out  in  forty  years.    Do  you  ever  walk  in 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  153 

your  sleep?"  slie  asked,  turning  suddenly  to 
Bert. 

The  question  was  so  unexpected  that  he 
could  not  help  changing  color,  and  this  served 
to  increase  Mrs'.  Wilson's  dawning  suspicions. 

"  Not  that  I  ever  heard  of,"  Bert  answered, 
after  a  pause. 

"  I  knew  a  boy  once  that  did — it  was  a 
second  cousin  of  my  brother's  first  wife." 

"  I  am  sure  I  never  got  up  in  my  sleep." 

The  door  leading  into  the  entry  from  which 
the  back-stairs  ascended  was'  open,  and 
through  this,  just  at  this  moment,  was  heard 
a  sound  that  startled  all  three  who  were  sit- 
ting at  the  breakfast  table. 

It  was  a  loud,  unmistakeable  sneeze,  and  it 
came  from  the  chamber  which  Bert  had  occu- 
pied. 

The  farmer  and  his  wife  started  as  if  the 
house  had  been  shaken  by  an  exploding  bomb- 
shell. Both  turned  as  pale  as  death,  looked 
fearfully  at  each  other,  and  clutched  tightly 
at  the  edges  of  the  table. 

"  Silas ! "  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  in  a  hollow 
voice,  "  the  burglar  is  upstairs ! " 


154  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

A  PANIC  AT  FARMER  WILSON'S. 

Silas  Wilson  was  not  a  brave  man,  and 
at  his  wife's  suggestion  he  turned  pale,  and 
looked  panic-stricken. 

*'  Do — jou — think  so?  "  he  asked  feebly. 

"  Do  I  think  so?  I  know  so,"  returned  Mrs. 
Wilson  energetically^ 

"  How  could  he  get  up  there?  " 

Mrs.  Wilson  walked  to  the  window,  and 
her  lynx  eyes  detected  the  ladder  by  which 
Phineas  had  climbed  to  the  window  of  Bert's 
room. 

"Do  you  see  that?"  she  asked. 

It  is  rather  surprising  that  she  did  not  sus- 
pect Bert  of  knowing  something  about  the 
matter,  but  she  had  not  yet  had  time  to  put 
two  and  two  together. 

''  It's  terrible !  "  murmured  Silas,  mopping 
the  cold  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 
"  What  can  we  do?  " 

"  What  can  we  do?  Go  and  get  your  gun, 
Silas,  and  go  up  and  confront  the  villain. 
That's  what  we  can  do." 

Somehow  the  suggestion  did  not  seem  to 
Stid  favor  with  Mr.  Wilson. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  155 

"  He  would  shoot  me,"  he  said.  "  He's 
probably  waitin'  for  me  with  a  loaded  weepun 
upon  the  landin'," 

"  Silas  Wilson,  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  Are 
you  going'  to  let  a  villainous  burglar  rampage 
round  upstairs,  stealin'  whatever  he  can  lay 
his  hands  on?     Come  now!" 

"  I  believe  3'ou  care  more  for  the  few  things 
upstairs  than  for  your  husband's  life,"  said 
Silas  reproachfullj'. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  go,  Silas?  What'll 
the  folks  in  the  village  say  when  they  hear  of 
it?" 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  know  where  the  gun  is," 
said  Silas  nervously. 

"  It's  out  in  the  wood .^hed  behind  the  door." 

"  I  don't  know  as  it's  loaded.  Besides  I 
wouldn't  want  to  be  took  up  for  murder." 

"  Not  much  danger,  Silas  Wilson !  Such 
men  as  you  don't  get  into  such  scrapes  as 
that." 

Mrs.  Wilson  went  out  into  the  woodshed, 
and  returned,  holding  the  gun  in  such  a  way 
that  it  pointed  directly  at  her  husband. 

"  Don't  you  know  no  better  than  to  p'int 
that  gun  at  me,  Sophia?"  exclaimed  Silas  in 
no  little  terror.  "  Beats  all  what  fools  wo- 
men are  about  firearms." 

"  They  may  be  fools,  but  they  ain't  cow- 


156  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

ards,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilson.  "  Come,  are 
you  going  up  or  not?  " 

"  Hadn't  I  better  go  to  the  foot  of  tlie  stairs 
and  fire  up?  "  asked  Silas  with  a  bright  idea. 

"  And  then  he'd  come  down  on  3'ou,  when 
your  gun  was  discharged,  and  run  his  bayonet 
into  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  who  knew  that 
at  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  the  muskets  had 
bayonets  attached. 

"  I"ll  give  him  warnin'!"  continued  Silas. 
"  It'll  only  be  fair.  He'll  probably  be  fright- 
ened and  climb  down  the  ladder." 

"  I  never  did  see  such  a  'fraid  cat  in  my 
life!"  quoth  Mrs.  Wilson  contemptuously. 

"  Mebbe  you're  braver'n  I  be.  If  you  are, 
go  up  yourself  I"  said  Silas  Wilson  angrily. 

"  You  want  to  put  your  wife  in  danger,  do 
you?"  returned  Mrs.  Wilson,  ^\iio  was  asi 
averse  to  facing  the  burglar  as  her  husband, 
though  she  talked  more  courageously. 

"  And  you  want  to  expose  your  husband  to 
danger,"  retorted  Silas,  "  so  it's  an  even  thing, 
so  far  as  I  can  see." 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  Bert  en- 
joyed the  dispute  between  the  husband  and 
wife,  though  he  maintained  an  outward 
gravity  which  helped  him  to  conceal  his  secret 
amusement.  By  this  time  he  thought  it  time 
for  him  to  take  part. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  157 

"  I'll  go  up,"  be  said. 

"You  will?"  exclaimed  Silas  in  surprise 
and   relief. 

"  Yes,  I  am  not  afraid." 

"  To  be  sure !  Tbe  burglar  wouldn't  do  3'ou 
no  barm.  You're  only  a  boj.  Do  you  know 
bow  to  fire  a  gun?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  sban't  need  tbe  gun.  I  am  sure 
tbe  burglar  wouldn't  barm  me." 

"  You're  a  brave  boy,  Bert,"  ^aUl  tbe 
farmer.  "  You're  doing  just  wbat  I  would 
bave  done  at  your  age." 

"  You  never  would  bave  done  it,  Silas !  I 
sbould  be  asbamed  anyway  to  own  up  I  was 
more  of  a  coward  as  a  grown  man  tban  as 
a  boy." 

"  Sopbia,  you  don't  know  mucb  about  burg- 
lars and  tbeir  ways.  Don't  be  afraid,  Bert; 
I'll  back  you  up;  I'll  stand  at  tbe  door  of  tbe 
kitcben  witb  tbe  gun  in  my  band,  and  belp 
you  if  you  need  it." 

Bert  smiled,  for  be  knew  just  bow  valuable 
Silas  Wilson's  assistance  would  be,  but  be 
made  no  coniment,  and  started  on  bis  perilous 
enterprise. 

"  I  bope  be  won't  come  to  no  barm,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilson.  "  I  don't  know  but  I'd  better 
go  witb  him." 


158-  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  It  would  be  safer  for  you,  Sophia,  for 
burglars  don't  shoot  women." 

"  Much  you  know  about  it,  Silas." 

The  two  moved  toward  the  kitchen  door, 
Silas  handling  the  gun  as  if  he  were  afraid  of 
it.  They  listened  with  painful  attention,  and 
presently  heard  the  sound  of  voices,  though 
they  could  not  make  out  what  was  being  said. 

The  boy's  speakin'  to  him ! "  said  Silas, 
awe-struck.  "  I  never  see  such  a  terrible 
time.  I  wish  I'd  told  Bert  to  tell  the  burg- 
lar to  go  back  the  same  way  he  came,  and 
we  wouldn't  fire  at  him.  I  don't  want  to  be 
too  hard  on  the  transgressor.  Mebbe  he's 
driven  to  his  evil  ways  by  destitution." 

Mrs.  Wilson  paid  very  little  attention  to 
^vhat  her  husband  was  saying,  being  more  in- 
tent on  what  was  passing  upstairs. 

After  a  short  interval  Bert  came  down. 

"  Well?  "  said  Silas  eagerly.  "  Did  you  see 
the  burglar?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  is  he?  "  [ 

"  In  my  room." 

"What  is  he  doin'  there?" 

"  He  is  lying  on  the  bed." 

"Well,  if  I  ever  saw  such  impudence!" 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Wilson, 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  159 

"  Has  he  got  a  gun  with  him?  Did  he  offer 
to  shoot  you?" 

"  No,"  answered  Bert  gravely.  "  The  poor 
fellow  is  sick." 

"Poor  fellow,  indeed!"  sniffed  Mrs.  Wil- 
son. "  What  does  he  mean  by  getting  into  a 
respectable  house  through  a  window?  He'll 
end  up  his  days  in  jail." 

"  Does — does  he  look  desperate?  "  inquired 
Silas  Wilson.  "  Would  he  be  likely  to  hurt 
me  or  Mis'  Wilson?" 

"No;  he  says  he  would  like  to  have  you 
come  up." 

"  Well,  of  all  things  I "  ejaculated  Sophia. 

"  I've  got  something  to  tell  you,"  went  on 
Bert,  turning  from  one  to  the  other.  "  He 
wants  me  to  tell  you  before  you  go  up.  It  is 
some  one  whom  you  both  know,  though  you 
haven't  seen  him  for  a  good  many  years.'' 

Silas  did  not  understand,  but  a  mother's  in- 
stincts were  quicker. 

"  Is  it  our  son — Phineas?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Bert;  "it  is  your  son." 

"  Who  stole  fift3'  dollars  from  his  father, 
and  crept  avray  like  a  thief  in  the  night! "  ex- 
claimed the  farmer  indignantly. 

"  He  has  suffered,  and  is  very  weak,"  re- 
joined Bert.  "  He  hadn't  had  anything  to 
eat  for  twenty-four  hours,  and  I  may  as  well 


i6o  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

tell  you  that  it  was  I  who  came  downstairs  in 
the  night  and  took  up  the  bread  and  milk 
*  to  him." 

"  You  did  quite  right,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson, 
who  was  half-way  upstairs  by  this  time.  He 
was  her  own  son  in  spite  of  all,  and  though 
she  was  not  an  emotional  woman,  she  yearned 
to  see  the  face  of  her  only  child,  with  a 
mother's  feelings  all  aroused  within  her. 

"  He  took  fifty  dollars ! "  repeated  Silas 
Wilson,  still  harping  on  a  wrong  which  he 
had  never  forgotten  nor  forgiven. 

Bert  was  rather  disgusted  at  tlie  farmer's 
meanness,  but  he  relieved  his  anxiety. 

"  He's  brought  you  back  the  money ! "  he 
said  shortly. 

"  He  has ! ''  exclaimed  Silas  in  a  tone  of 
gladness.     "Did  he  tell  you  so?" 

"Yes;  it  is  all  the  money  he  had,  and  he 
went  without  food  rather  than  spend  any  of 
it." 

"  Come,  that's  encouragin',"  said  the 
farmer.     "  He's  turnin'  from  his  evil  ways." 

When  they  reached  Bert's  chamber  they 
saw  Mrs.  Wilson  kneeling  beside  the  bed,  her 
harsh  features  softeneri  by  the  light  of  an  af- 
fection w^hich  had  been  absent  from  them  for 
years.  She  looked  contented  and  happy,  now 
that  her  boy  was  restored  to  her. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  i6i 

"  Got  back  again,  Phineas,  bev?  "  said  Silas 
Wilson.     "  You're  lookin'  kinder  peaked." 

''  Yes,  father,  I've  been  sick,  but  now " 

"  I'll  soon  get  him  well ! "  interposed  Mrs. 
Wilson.  "  I'll  go  right  down  and  bring  up 
some  breakfast." 

"  I  can  eat  it,  mother.  I  have  had  nothing 
except  the  bread  and  milk  Bert  brought  me." 

On  Wednesday  evening  Bert  closed  his  en- 
gagement with  the  farmer,  and  declined  to 
continue  it,  though  urged  strongly  to  do  so. 
He  went  home  in  a  whirl  of  excitement,  for 
Phineas  Wilson  had  told  him  something  which 
overwhelmed  him  with  astonishment. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

BERT  FORMS  A  RESOLUTION. 

"  Mother,"  said  Bert  abruptly,  as  he  en- 
tered the  cottage  at  the  close  of  his  engage- 
ment with  the  farmer,  "  when  did  father 
die?  " 

Mrs.  Barton  sank  into  a  chair,  and  looked 
search ingly  in  her  son's  face. 

"Why — do — ^you — ask?"    she    said    slowly. 

"  I  have  been  told  to-day  that  he  w^as  living 
only  a  year  since." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"Phineas  Wilson,   the  farmer's  son." 


i62  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Did  he  see  him  a  year  ago?  " 

"Yes,  in  some  town  in  Canada — near  To- 
st ron  to,  I  believe.  But,  mother,  you  don't  seem 
surprised." 

"  No,  Bert,  for  I  knew  your  father  was  liv- 
ing." 

"  Then  why  don't  he  come  home.  Why 
don't  he  live  with  us?  Is  there  some  mys- 
tery? " 

"  Yes,  Bert,  and  a  painful  one  for  your  un- 
fortunate father.  It  is  the  fear  of  a  prison 
that  has  kept  him  away  from  home," 

"  Surely,  mother,"  said  Bert,  painfully 
shocked,   "my  father   was  not  a   criminal?" 

"  No,  but  circumstances  made  him  appear 
such." 

"  Tell  me  the  story." 

"  It  is  time  that  you  heard  it.  Ten  years 
ago  your  father  and  Albert  Marlowe  were  em- 
ployed by  Weeks  Brothers,  large  shoe  manu- 
facturers   in    a    Massachusetts    town.      Both 

were  skilled  workmen " 

"  Did  Squire  Marlowe  work  at  the  bench?  " 

"  Yes,  his  position  was  precisely  the  same 

as   your   father's,    no   worse   and   no   better. 

Both  received  the  same  pay — two  dollars  a 

day," 

"  Does  Percy  know  this?  " 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  163 

"  Probably  not.  Albert  Marlowe  is  not 
fond  of  speaking  of  his  early  days  wh<ni  he 
was  a  common  workman.  At  that  time  our 
families  were  intimate  and  associated  on 
equal  terms.  Our  circumstances  and  ways 
of  living  were  the  same.  We  lived  in  a  double 
house,  Albert  occupying  one  tenement,  we  the 
other." 

"  Were  you  and  Mrs.  Marlowe  friendly 
then?  " 

"Yes;  she  had  not  yet  become  a  fine  lady, 
but  did  her  own  work,  dispensing  with  a  ser- 
vant. We  lived  plainly,  and,  if  anything, 
your  father  was  the  more  prosperous  of  the 
to,  as  we  managed  to  save  from  fifty  to 
seventy-five  dollars  a  year,  while  I  don't  be- 
lieve Albert  saved  anything.  But  one  day  a 
terrible  thing  happened.  Mr.  Weeks,  the 
senior  paitner,  was  a  trustee  and  guardian  for 
some  minor  children.  A  part  of  their  prop- 
erty was  invested  in  United  States  bonds, 
5-20's  as  they  are  called.  He  kept  them  in  his 
safe  in  the  factory.  One  morning  when  he 
opened  the  safe  they  were  missing.  You  can 
imagine  the  dismay  of  the  guardian  and  his 
indignation  against  the  unknown  thief.  The 
loss  was  publicly  proclaimed,  and  a  reward 
of  one  hundred  dollars  was  offered  to  any  one 
who  could  and  would  give  any  information 


164  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

that  would  lead  to  tlie  discovery  of  the  ttuei. 
Some  one — a  young  man  named  Harding- 
entered  the  office  of  the  firm  and  informed 
them  that  he  had  seen  your  father  thrusting  a 
paper,  looking  like  a  government  bond,  into 
the  inside  pocket  of  his  overcoat — it  was  in 
the  middle  of  winter.  The  workmen  kept 
their  coats  in  a  small  room  near  the  entrance 
of  the  factory.  Of  course  the  room  was 
visited,  your  father's  coat  was  examined,  and 
in  one  of  the  pockets  was  found  one  of  the 
missing  bonds,  one  for  five  hundred  dollars. 
Your  father  was  summoned,  charged  with  the 
theft,  and  required  to  tell  what  he  had  done 
with  the  remaining  bonds.  He  was  thunder- 
struck at  the  accusation,  and  denied  in  the 
most  positive  terms  any  knowledge  of  the 
stolen  property.  His  statement  was  not 
credited.  He  was  arrested,  tried  for  the 
offense,  and  sentenced  to  a  term  of  imprison- 
ment." 

"  Bert's  face  flushed  with  indignation,  and 
he  clinched  his  fist  almost  unconsciously. 

"  Did  he  go  to  prison?  "  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"  No ;  some  of  his  friends,  who  believed  in 
his  innocence,  helped  him  to  escape,  and  sup- 
plied  him  with  funds  to  get  out  of  the  country. 
Now  you  know  why  he  has  remained  absent 
all  these  years." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  165 

"  But  why  was  I  never  told  of  this,  mother? 
Why  did  I  not  know  at  the  time?  " 

"  You  were  only  six  years  of  age,  and  were 
sent  away  during  the  excitement  to  the  house 
of  a  friend  living  at  some  distance.  I  moved 
away  from  the  town  in  which  my  misfortunes 
were  known,  and  eventually  came  here,  learn- 
ing that  Albert  Marlowe  had  established  him- 
self in  business  here.  You  readily  believed 
that  your  father  was  dead." 

"  I  understand  now,  mother.  But  is  it  not 
terrible  that  the  happiness  of  a  family  should 
be  broken  up  in  this  way?  " 

"  Yes,  Bert.  Providence  permits  it  for  some 
wise  purpose,  no  doubt,  though  it  is  hard  for 
us  to  understand  why   it   should  be," 

"  One  thing  I  don't  understand,  mother. 
Y^ou  say  that  Squire  Marlowe  was  a  common 
workman,  like  my  father,  and  a  poor  man?" 

"Yes,  Bert." 

"  How  is  it  that  he  is  now  a  rich  manufac- 
turer? Where  did  he  get  the  necessary  capi- 
tal?" 

"  Nobody  knew.  He  took  all  his  friends  by 
surprise  when  he  went  into  business  for  him- 
self on  a  large  scale.  Whatever  the  amount  of 
his  capital,  he  has  never  been  financially 
embarrassed,  and  has  gone  on  prospering." 

"  Till  now  he  is  a  rich  man,  living  in  luxury, 


1 66  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

while  we  are  living  from  hand  to  mouth,  and 
poor  father  is  an  exile  somewhere." 
^'Yes,  Bert." 

"  Don't  you  receive  letters  from  father? " 
"  If  I  should,  it  would  draw  attention  to 

him,  and  might  imperil  his  safety." 

"  I  might  meet  him  sometime,  and  not  know 

him." 

"  Have  you  no  recollection  of  him?  " 

"  Not  the  least?  Haven't  you  any  picture 
of  him,  mother?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  daguerreotype  upstairs — an 
old-style  picture." 

"  Why  have  you  never  shown  it  to  me?  " 

"  Because  it  would  have  led  you  to  ask 
questions  which  would  have  been  embarrass- 
ing for  me  to  answer.  You  might  have  men- 
tioned the  existence  of  the  picture  before  some 
visitor,  and  compelled  me  to  produce  it.  Sup- 
pose this  had  been  the  case,  and  it  had  been 
recognized,  it  might  have  got  your  father  into 
trouble." 

"  Now  that  I  know  all  the  circumstances, 
Avon't  you  show  me  the  picture,  mother?  " 

"  Yes,  Bert ;  the  only  objection  I  had  is 
now  removed." 

Mrs.  Barton  went  upstairs,  and  soon  re- 
turned with  one  of  those  old-fashioned  pic- 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  167 

turcs  of  which  many  of  my  readers  may  have 
specimens  iu  their  homes — a  daguerrotype. 

Bert  scanned  it  attentively,  and  he  first 
looked  bewildered,  then  surprised. 

"  I  have  seen  a  face  like  that,'^  he  said  after 
a  pause. 

"Where,   Bert?" 

"  I — don't  remember.  Is  it  possible  that  I 
can  remember  so  far  back?  " 

"  It   may   be  an   accidenftal   resemblance." 

"  No ,  the  face  is  like  in  every  respect. 
Can't  you  explain  it  to  me,  mother?  " 

"Think  a  little,  Bert.  Perhaps  you  will 
recall  where  you  saw  a  face  like  this." 

"  I  have  it  now,"  said  Bert,  his  face  bright- 
ening up.  "  It  is  like  Mr.  Robinson — the 
friend  of  father,  who  called  here  a  few  weeks 
since." 

"Bert,"  said  his  mother  slowly,  "  ^Mr.  Rob- 
inson was  not  your  father's  friend.  It  was 
your  father  himself." 

Bert  looked  the  picture  of  astonishment. 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me,  mother?  " 

"How  could  I?     You  did  not  even  know  ' 
that  he  was  alive.     Ever  since  then  I  have 
been  seeking  an  opportunity  to  tell  you  the 
truth." 

"  I  am  glad  to  know.  What  did  father  have 
to  say?  " 


i68  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  He  thinks  he  has  found  out — at  any  rate 
he  has  strong  suspicions — who  was  the  real 
thief  for  whom  he  suffered." 

"  Who  is  it,  mother?  Is  it  any  one  I  ever 
knew?" 

"  Yes,  Bert." 

"  Tell  me  quick." 

"  Then  you  must  promise  to  keep  it  secret 
till  we  are  in  a  condition  to  prove  the  truth  of 
our  suspicions.     It  was  Albert  Marlowe." 

"The  squire?" 

"  Yes.'' 

"  That  must  explain  his  being  able  to  go 
into  business  for  himself." 

"  Yes.  Your  father  is  on  the  track  of  a 
man  who  was  his  accomplice,  or  rather  his 
tool,  in  the  matter — the  young  man  named 
Harding,  on  w^hose  information  your  father 
was  arrested.  Of  course  he  is  placed  under  a 
disadvantage  in  making  these  inquiries,  being 
under  the  ban  of  the  law." 

"  Mother,"  said  Bert  solemnly,  "  I  am  going 
to  solve  the  mystery,  if  possible,  make  my 
father's  evidence  clear,  and  expose  the  real 
criminal.  I  am  only  a  boy,  and  I  don't  know 
how  I  shall  accomplish  it,  but  I  won't  rest  till 
I  have  done  it." 

"  May  Heaven  grant  you  success,  my  dear 
boy ! "  responded  Mrs.  Barton  fervently. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  169 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE  OFFICE  OF  THE  MAGNET  MINE. 

Bert  took  the  morning  train  to  New  York, 
and  arrived  about  half-past  seven  o'clock.  He 
met  with  no  adventures  on  the  wav,  and  as 
soon  as  he  reached  the  Grand  Central  Depot 
took  a  Fourth  Avenue  ear  down,  as  instructed 
by  Uncle  Jacob.  In  a  large  building  of  many 
stories  on  Nassau  Street,  on  the  sixth  floor, 
was  an  office  on  the  door  of  which  Bert  read 

MAGNET  MINING  CO. 

This,  as  he  understood,  was  the  office  where 
Jacob  Marlowe  was  employed. 

Bert  was  considering  whether  he  ought  to 
knock  or  not,  when  a  brisk-looking  gentle- 
man stepped  up,  and,  opening  the  door,  en- 
tered.    Bert   followed  him   in. 

"Whom  did  you  wish  to  see?"  asked  the 
brisk-looking  man, 

"  Mr.  Jacob  Marlowe.  Is  this  the  office 
where  he  is  employed? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  man,  with  a  smile. 

Ber-t  hardly  needed  this  assurance,  however, 
as  he  had  already  discovered  Uncle  Jacob  sit- 
ting in  an  inner  room,  at  a  desk,  conversing 
on  business,  apparently,  with  an  elderly  man 
of  dignified  appearance, 


i7o  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

^'  He  will  soon  be  at  leisure,"  said  the  one 
who  had  just  entered,  and  seated  himself  at 
another  desk  in  the  outer  room, 

"  That  must  be  Uncle  Jacob's  employer," 
thought  Bert. 

"  What  news  do  you  hear  of  the  mine?  "  he 
heard  the  elderly  man  ask. 

"  Excellent,"  answ^ered  Uncle  Jacob.  "  It 
has  gone  up  five  points  within  two  weeks. 
The  output  is  steadily  increasing." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  it  from  your 
own  knowledge?  " 

"  Certainly ;  I  ought  to,  for  I  was  myself  its 
discoverer." 

This  rather  surprised  Bert. 

"  It  was  a  rich  find,"  continued  Uncle  Jacob, 
"  and  I  have  no  hesitation  in  putting  it  on  the 
New  York  market." 

"  There  are  so  many  wild-cat  mines,  you 
know,  that  a  man  needs  to  be  very  cautious." 

"  Quite  true.  In  such  mines  it  is  only  the 
men  who  capitalize  them  who  make  money.  I 
would  not  lend  myself  to  any  such  scheme  of 
deception.  I  have  a  reputation  to  sustain,  and 
I  value  that  more  than  money.  Our  mine  has 
found  favor  with  some  of  the  most  conserv- 
ative investors  in  the  city,"  Here  Uncle  Jacob 
mentioned  several  names,  so  prominent  that 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  171 

they  were  familiar  to  Bert,  country  boy 
though  he  was. 

"  You  may  put  me  down  for  five  hundred 
shares/'  said  the  elderly  man,  apparently  con- 
vinced. "  I  will  send  you  round  a  check  to- 
morrow.   To  whom  shall  I  make  it  payable?  " 

"  To  me." 

"  Very  well.*' 

The  old  gentleman  rose,  drew  on  his  gloves, 
and  went  out,  Uncle  Jacob  accompanying  him 
to  the  door.  This  brought  him  face  to  face 
with  Bert. 

"  So  you  have  come,  Bert,"  he  said  with  a 
pleasant  smile.  "  How  did  you  leave  your 
mother?  " 

"  Very  well,  uncle." 

"  At  what  time  did  you  breakfast?  " 

"  At  half-past  six." 

"  Then  you  must  be  hungry.  It  is  rather 
early  for  my  lunch,  but  I  will  go  out  with  you 
now.  Mr.  Bascom,  I  shall  be  back  within  an 
hour.  If  any  one  calls  to  see  me,  try  to  keep 
him." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Bascom  deferentially. 

"  He  can't  be  Uncle  Jacob's  employer," 
thought  Bert.  "  He  is  too  respectful.  I  had 
no  idea  uncle  was  such  a  man  of  business. 
He  doesn't  appear  to  be  afraid  of  anybody." 

They  descended  in  the  elevator,  rather  to 


172  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Bert's  surprise,  who  had  climbed  up  bj  the 
staircase.  Crossing  the  street  they  entered  a 
dairy  restaurant,  which  in  spite  of  the  name 
supplied  the  usual  variety  of  dishes.  They 
found  a  table  at  which  no  others  were  seated, 
and  Uncle  Jacob  ordered  a  substantial  meal  of 
roast  beef  and  vegetables. 

"  Did  you  find  me  easily,  Bert? "  he  in- 
quired. 

"  Oh,  yes,  uncle.  I  had  to  inquire  the  way 
once  only.    Do  you  like  your  place?  " 

"  Very  well,  indeed,  Bert." 

"  Is  it  a  good  man  you  work  for?  " 

Uncle  Jacob  smiled. 

"  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  him,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  I  thought  perhaps  that  man  with  black 
hair  and  whiskers  might  be  the  boss." 

"  No,  he  is  a  clerk." 

"Like  you?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jacob,  with  another  smile. 

"  Does  the  boss  often  come  in?  " 

"  He  doesn't  interfere  much.  You  see  he 
has  a  good  deal  of  confidence  in  Mr.  Bascom 
and  myself." 

"  So  I  thought." 

"  What  made  you  think  so?  " 

"  You  seem  to  talk  and  act  as  if  you  were 
independent." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  173 

"  It's  a  way  I  have,  Bert.  As  I  understand 
the  business  thoroughly,  more  than  anybody 
else,  there  is  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't,  is 
there?  " 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  That  is  wliy  I  enjoy  my  position  so  well." 

"  Do  you  get  paid  your  wages  every  Satur- 
day night?" 

"  Oftener,  if  I  please,"  answered  Jacob  Mar- 
lowe, seeming  amused.  "  If  I  happen  to  get 
short  in  the  middle  of  the  week,  I  can  draw  in 
advance." 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  very  good  position. 
Uncle  Jacob.  It  is  a  great  deal  better  than 
opening  a  cigar  store  in  Lakeville." 

"Yes,  I  think  so  myself — Albert  Marlowe 
was  right  in  advising  me  against  it.  Have 
you  seen  him  lately?  " 

"  I  see  him  about  every  day,  but  not  to 
speak  to." 

"  It  was  mean  in  him  to  discharge  you  from 
the  factory." 

"  So  I  thought.  Uncle  Jacob." 

"  I  wrote  asking  him  to  take  you  back." 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Bert,  with  in- 
terest. 

"  He  in  effect  told  me  to  mind  my  own  busi- 
ness. I  hope  you  and  your  mother  have  not 
suffered  for  want  of  money?" 


174  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  No,  thanks  to  you,  Uncle  Jacob.  Mother 
thought  jou  ought  not  to  have  sent  so  much." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  miss  it,  Bert,"  said 
Uncle  Jacob.    "  I  am  glad  that  it  helped  you." 

"  The  twenty-dollar  bill  got  me  into  trou- 
ble." 

"  How  was  that?  " 

Bert  told  the  story  of  his  arrest  on  the 
charge  of  robbing  Mr.  Jones,  and  gave  an  ac- 
count of  his  trial. 

"  And  you  were  tried  before  Albert  Mar- 
lowe? " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  suppose  Percy  rejoiced  in  your  humili- 
ation?" 

"  No,  he  didn't.  He  behaved  like  a  brick. 
He  walked  to  the  court-room  with  me,  and 
told  me  he  was  sure  I  was  not  guilty." 

"  I  am  certainly  surprised,  but  I  am  pleased 
also.  That  is  a  point  in  Percy's  favor,  an  un- 
expected one.    He  shan't  lose  by  it." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shouldn't  have  got  off  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  a  young  lawyer  from  New 
York,  named  Conway,  who  volunteered  to  de- 
fend me." 

"  Go  on.  Give  me  an  account  of  it.  Can 
you  give  me  the  address  of  Mr.  Conway?  " 

♦*  Yes,  uncle.    I  have  it  here," 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  175 

"  I  may  be  able  to  throw  a  little  business  in 
ills  way.    One  good  turn  deserves  another." 

"  I  wish  you  would,  Uncle  Jacob.  Mr.  Con- 
way refused  to  accept  a  fee,  knowing  that  I 
could  not  afford  to  pay  him." 

Uncle  Jacob  asked  other  questions  as  the 
dinner  proceeded.  Finally  Bert  brought  out 
his  most  important  piece  of  news. 

"  I  have  just  found  out  that  my  father  is 
still  alive,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  knew  that,"  returned  Uncle  Jacob 
calmly. 

"  You  knew  it?  " 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  to  see  me." 

"He  has!     When?" 

"  Last  week." 

"You  don't  think  him  guilty  of  the  charge 
which  was  brought  against  him?  " 

"No;  I  think  him  a  badly-used  man." 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  the  means  of  proving 
his  innocence." 

"  I  mean  that  you  sliall  be." 

Bert  surveyed  his  uncle  in  surprise. 

"  In  fact,  it  is  for  that  reason  I  have  sent 
for  you.  Your  father  has  put  his  case  into 
my  hands,  and  I  propose  to  see  him  righted. 
This  evening,  when  I  am  free  from  business 
cares,  I  will  speak  further  with  you  on  this 
subject." 


176  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Uncle  Jacob  called  for  his  clieck,  paid  it, 
«ind  they  returned  to  the  office. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

AN  ADVERTISEMENT  AND  WHAT  CAME  OF  IT. 

Uncle  Jacob  left  the  office  at  five  o'clock, 
and  Bert,  who  had  been  exploring  the  lower 
part  of  New  York,  went  uptown  with  him  on 
the  Sixth  Avenue  road.  They  got  out  at 
Twenty-third  Street,  and  Jacob  Marlowe  led 
the  way  to  a  large,  roomy  house  near  Seventh 
Avenue.  He  took  out  a  night-key,  and  open- 
ing the  outer  door  proceeded  to  a  large,  hand- 
somely furnished  apartment  on  the  second 
floor,  with  a  bedroom  attached. 

"  This  is  where  I  live,  Bert,"  he  remarked, 
as  he  took  off  his  hat  and  hung  it  up  in  a 
closet. 

Bert  looked  around  him.  To  him  the  room 
looked  quite  luxurious,  being  furnished  in  a 
style  which  would  compare  favorably  even 
v/ith  Squire  Marlowe's,  the  best  house  in 
Lakeville. 

Bert  knew  nothing  of  room  rents  in  New 
York;  but,  inexperienced  as  he  was,  he  was 
surprised  that  his  uncle,  on  a  salary  of  twelve 
dollars  a  week,  should  be  able  to  live  so  well. 
He  would  have  been  even  more  amazed  had  he 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  177 

known  that  the  weekly  rent  of  the  room  he 
was  in  was  twelve  dollars. 

"  You've  got  a  splendid  room,  Uncle  Jacob,'' 
he  said.  "  I  shouldn't  think  you  could  afford 
to  live  in  such  style." 

"  Some  of  my  friends  think  I  am  extrava- 
gant," observed  Jacob  Marlowe  with  a  smile. 
"  Perhaps  they  are  right." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  can't  save  anything," 
went  on  Bert  gravely.  "  What  if  you  should 
get  sick?  " 

"  I  see,  Bert,  you  are  more  prudent  than  I 
am.  However  I  have  invested  some  of  my 
money  in  the  Magnet  Mine,  and  it  is  likely  to 
double.  So  I  feel  justified  in  making  myself 
comfortable." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,  Uncle  Jacob.  You 
deserve  to  succeed,  you  are  so  kind  to 
others." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so,  Bert.  I  want  lo 
do  some  good  while  I  live.  It  gives  a  man 
something  to  live  for." 

After  supper,  which  was  taken  at  a  restau- 
rant near  by,  Uncle  Jacob  said :  "  Now  let  us 
come  to  business.  I  promised  your  father 
that  I  would  do  what  I  could  to  prove  him  in- 
nocent of  the  charge  made  against  him  ten 
years  since," 

"Where  is  my  father?    Is  he  in  the  city?'' 


1/8  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  No ;  it  is  not  safe  for  liim  to  stay  here,  as 
he  is  subject  to  arrest,  and  might  be  recog- 
nized. He  has  gone  back  to  Canada.  Do 
you  know  the  particulars  of  his  story?  " 

"  Yes ;  mother  told  me  all  about  it  last 
night." 

"  You  know,  then,  that  a  young  man  named 
Ralph  Harding  informed  against  him,  and 
that  it  was  his  testimony  that  led  to  your 
father's  arrest." 

"  Yes." 

"  Your  father  is  under  the  impression  that 
this  Harding  was  in  league  with  Albert  Mar- 
lowe, and  was  employed  by  him  to  throw  sus- 
picion upon  your  father.  The  weak  point  of 
the  prosecution  was  that  your  father  could 
only  be  connected  with  the  five-hundred  dollar 
bond  found  in  his  overcoat  pocket,  while  a 
large  balance  was  wholly  unaccounted  for. 
That  made  it  seem  like  a  cunning  conspiracy;, 
as  undoubtedly  it  was." 

"Were  the  other  bonds  never  traced?" 

"  I  understand  not.  No  list  of  the  numbers 
had  been  kept,  and,  not  being  registered,  they 
could  easily  be  sold.  Your  father  thinks  that 
upon  these  the  present  prosperity  of  Albert 
Marlowe  was  built  up." 

"  How  are  we  to  prove  that?  " 

"  It  will  be  difficult.     One  thing  is  abso- 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  179 

lutely  essential.  We  must  find  this  Ralph 
Harding,  and  persuade  him,  if  we  can,  to  ex- 
onerate your  father  and  place  the  guilt  where 
it  properly  belongs." 

"  Does  father  know  where  to  find  Hard- 
ing? " 

"  No;  if  he  did,  the  greatest  difficulty  in  our 
way  would  be  removed." 

"  Then  I  don't  see  that  we  can  do  any- 
thing," said  Bert,  disappointed. 

"  The  task  is  difficult,  but  not  impossible. 
All  we  know  is,  that  only  two  months  after 
the  robbery  Harding  disappeared.  It  was  re- 
ported that  he  went  to  the  West,  but  this  was 
by  no  means  certain.  From  that  day  to  this, 
nothing  is  positively  known  as  to  his  where- 
abouts." 

"  Then  I  don't  see  what  can  be  done,"  re- 
peated Bert. 

"  There  is  one  thing  to  guide  us,"  con- 
tinued Uncle  Jacob;  "the  man's  occupation. 
There  is  a  fair  probability  that  he  is  work- 
ing in  some  shoe  town,  that  is,  if  he  is  still 
alive." 

"  There  are  a  good  many  shoe  towns,"  ob- 
jected Bert. 

"True;  the  clew  is  only  a  faint  one,  yet 
sometimes  a  faint  clew  leads  to  important  dis- 
coveries," 


i8o  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Have  you  taken  any  steps  yet,  Uncle 
Jacob?" 

"  Yes ;  your  father  remembered  that  Hard- 
ing was  a  Pennsylvanian  by  birth,  and  this 
made  it  possible,  at  least,  that  he  had  gone 
back  to  his  native  State.  Accordingl}^  last 
week,  I  inserted  an  advertisement  in  two  daily 
papers  printed  in  Philadelphia,  calling  for  in- 
formation touching  the  man  of  whom  we  are 
in  search.     I  will  show  you  a  copy  of  it." 

Uncle  Jacob  took  from  his  wallet  a  news- 
paper clipping  and  showed  it  to  Bert. 

It  ran  thus: 

Wanted. — Information  as  to  the  present 
residence  of  Ralph  Harding,  who  in  the  year 
1873  was  employed  in  the  shoe  manufactory  of 
Weeks  Brothers,  in  Lynn,  Mass.  He  will 
hear  something  to  his  advantage. 

"  Have  you  had  any  answer  to  this  adver- 
tisement? "  asked  Bert. 

"  Not  till  this  morning,  when  I  received  a 
letter  from  Harrisburg,  written  in  a  feminine 
hand.     Here  it  is." 

He  placed  in  Bert's  hands  the  following 
letter : 

Dear  Sir:  I  have  read  in  the  Philadelphia 
Ledger  your  advertisement  for  a  man  named 
Ralph     Harding,    A    man     by    that    pame 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  i8i 

boarded  with  me  two  months  ago.  He  was 
working  in  a  shoe  shop  in  this  city,  so  he  may 
be  the  one  you  are  after.  You  say  you  know 
of  something  to  his  advantage.  If  there  is 
any  money  coming  to  him  I  want  you  to  see 
that  I  am  paid  a  just  debt.  Mr.  Harding  was 
owing  me  eight  weeks'  board  when  he  left  the 
house,  at  four  dollars  a  week,  and  dirt  cheap 
that  is;  for,  if  I  do  say  it  myself,  there  are  not 
many  boarding-houses  in  Harrisburg  where  so 
good  a  table  is  kept  for  four  dollars  as  I  give. 
I  inclose  my  bill,  and  will  be  very  glad  if  you 
will  send  me  the  money  by  return  of  mail,  tak- 
ing it  out  of  any  money  that  is  to  come  to  Mr. 
Harding.  I  work  hard  for  my  money,  and  I 
can't  afford  to  lose  thirty-two  dollars,  and  it 
isn't  right  that  I  should. 

Hoping  to  hear  from  you  very  soon,  I  re- 
main, 

Yours  respectfully, 

Amelia  Stubbs. 

P.  S.  You  can  send  me  a  check,  as  I  can  get 
it  cashed  by  my  grocer. 

"  Mrs.  Stubbs  means  business,"  remarked 
Bert  with  a  smile.  ''  Have  you  sent  her  the 
money?  " 

"  Not  yet.  I  don't  hold  myself  liable  for 
Ralph  Harding's  debts,  even  if  this  is  the  man 


iS2  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

I  am  after.  However,  I  am  willing  to  pay 
Mrs.  Stubbs  for  information,  if  she  can  fur- 
nish any  that  will  help  us." 

"  Have  you  written  to  her?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  send  a  letter  to  her  by  you." 

"  Am  I  to  go  to  Harrisburg? "  exclaimed 
Bert,  pleasantly  surprised. 

"  Yes ;  I  shall  send  you  there  to-morrow." 

"  I  should  like  to  go.  What  am  I  to  do 
when  I  get  there?  " 

"  First  of  all  you  must  call  on  Mrs.  Stubbs. 
It  may  be  well  for  you  to  engage  board  at  her 
house  for  a  week,  paying  in  advance,  as  that 
will  put  you  in  her  good  graces.  You  will,  of 
course,  learn  all  jou  can  from  her,  but  it  will 
be  necessary  also  to  seek  information  outside. 
I  shall  have  to  leave  a  good  deal  to  your  dis- 
cretion." 

"  I  hope  your  confidence  in  me  won't  prove 
to  be  misplaced.  Uncle  Jacob." 

"  I  know  you  will  do  your  best,  Bert,  but  it 
is  quite  possible  you  may  fail.  As  the  poet 
says :  *  'Tis  not  in  mortals  to  command  suc- 
cess.'   I  am  sure  you  will  deserve  it." 

"  Isn't  it  going  to  cost  considerable  to  make 
this  journey,  Uncle  Jacob?  " 

"  I  think  we  can  find  money  enough  for  it." 

"  I  am  afraid  your  money  will  soon  melt 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  183 

away,  uncle.  Think  bow  much  you  have  spent 
for  us  already." 

"  You  remember  what  I  told  you  as  to  my 
lucky  investment  in  the  Magnet  Mine.  At 
any  rate  it  will  be  worth  something  to  vindi- 
cate your  father,  who,  for  ten  long  and  tedious 
years,  has  been  compelled  to  pass  his  life  iu 
exile  under  the  ban  of  a  crime  which  he  never 
committed." 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Jacob,  but  it  ought  not  to 
come  out  of  you." 

"  Make  yourself  easy,  Bert.  The  money  we 
spend  for  worthy  purposes  is  well  invested, 
and  we  are  often  repaid  tenfold.  And  now,  as 
you  are  unacquainted  with  New  York,  I  will 
take  you  out  for  a  walk  and  show  you  how  it 
looks  by  gaslight." 

Nothing  could  have  pleased  Bert  better 
than  this  proposal.  They  returned  at  nine 
o'clock,  and  both  he  and  Uncle  Jacob  retired 
at  an  early  hour. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

BERT  SECURES  BOARD  IN  IIARRISBURG. 

Bert  arrived  in  Harrisburg  about  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  He  had  in  his  hand 
a  gripsack  purchased  for  him  by  Uncle  Jacob, 
who  also  provided  him  with  a  fuller  supply  of 


184  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

shirts,  socks,  and  nnderclothing  than  he  had 
brought  with  him. 

"  You  may  be  gone  some  time,"  he  said. 

Just  as  Bert  got  into  the  cars.  Uncle  Jacob 
handed  him  a  wallet. 

"  This  contains  a  sum  of  money  for  your  im- 
mediate needs,"  he  explained.  "  When  you 
are  out,  send  to  me." 

After  the  cars  started,  Bert  opened  the  wal- 
let, and  to  his  surprise  found  that  he  had 
fifty  dollars  in  his  possession. 

"  Uncle  Jacob's  money  won't  last  long  at 
this  rate,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  must  be 
very  careful  and  economical.  I  should  like  to 
take  back  to  him  a  part  of  this  sum." 

Of  course  Bert  enjoyed  his  trip.  The  sun 
shone  brightly,  the  air  was  cool  and  invigorat- 
ing, and  the  scenes  through  which  he  was  rap- 
idly speeding  were  new  to  him.  In  spite  of 
the  sense  of  responsibility  which  rested  upon 
him,  he  felt  cheerful  and  exhilarated. 

"  If  I  can  only  succeed  in  my  mission ! "'  he 
thought.  "  If  I  can  only  find  Ealph  Harding, 
and  induce  him  to  vindicate  my  father's  repu- 
tation, I  shall  feel  happy !  " 

It  so  happened  that  he  had  seated  himself  in 
the  smoking  car,  the  car  behind,  which  he  first 
entered,  being  full. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  185 

A  tall,  thin  man,  wearing  a  white  hat,  sat 
down  beside  him. 

"Have  a  cigar,  young  man?"  he  asked,  as 
he  produced  two  of  rather  poor  quality, 
one  of  which  he  lighted  and  proceeded  to 
smoke. 

"  No,  thank  you,  sir." 

"  Better  accept  a  good  offer,"  urged  the 
stranger. 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  don't  smoke." 

"Indeed!     How  old  are  you?" 

"  I  am  sixteen,"  replied  Bert. 

"  Then  you  are  a  rara  avis — that  means  a 
rare  bird.     Most  boys  of  your  age  smoke." 

"  They'd  be  better  off  without  it." 

"  Perhaps  so.  I  see  you  are  a  prudent 
young  man.     How  far  are  you  going?  " 

"  To  Harrisburg." 

"  So  am  I.    Queer  coincidence,  isn't  it?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Bert,  smiling. 
"  I  presume  there  are  other  passengers'  on 
board  who  are  also  bound  for  that  city." 

"  Very  possibly.     Ever  been  there  before?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  I  have  often,  and  the  long  ride  is  rather 
tedious.  What  do  you  say  to  a  little  game  of 
cards  to  fill  up  the  time?  " 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  would  rather  look  out  of 
the  window." 


i86  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

The  stranger  seemed  disappointed,  but  a 
man  in  the  seat  just  behind,  leaning  over, 
said :    "  If  you  want  a  game,  I'm  your  man." 

"All  right!"  said  Bert's  companion, 
brightening  up.     "  What  game  do  you  play?  '^ 

"  Anything." 

"  Poker?  " 

"  All  right." 

The  two  took  seats  opposite,  between  which 
was  a  small  table,  and  the  game  began.  Bert 
looked  over  now  and  then,  and  saw  that  they 
were  playing  for  money.  He  was  startled,  for 
he  had  been  taught  to  regard  gambling  with 
horror.  It  seemed  evident  after  awhile  that 
his  late  seat-mate  was  losing.  He  became 
more  and  more  excited  and  nervous,  and  his 
face  was  overspread  with  gloom.  At  length 
he  came  over  to  Bert,  and  said,  eagerly: 
"  My  young  friend,  will  you  do  me  a  favor?  " 

"  What  is  it,  sir?  " 

"  Lend  me  five  dollars." 

This  seemed  to  Bert  an  extraordinary  re- 
quest from  a  perfect  stranger. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  sir,"  he  answered. 

"  Haven't  you  got  as  much  about  you?  Say 
two  dollars,  then." 

"  The  money  I  have  with  me  is  not  my 
own,"  said  Bert,     "  I  cannot  lend  anything." 

"  But,  let  me  assure  you,  I  will  give  it  back 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  187 

to  you  before  the  train  reaches  Harrisburg. 
I  have  had  a  streak  of  bad  luck,  and  that  man 
over  there  has  won  all  my  money.  But  I've 
got  on  to  his  game,  and  I  will  soon  have  it  all 
back,  if  I  get  a  start.  You'll  be  doing  me  a 
great  favor,  and  there  will  be  no  risk." 

"  He  must  take  me  for  a  fool,"  thought  Bert. 

"  You  had  better  apply  to  some  one  else," 
he  said  coldly.    "  I  can't  possibly  help  you." 

"  So  young  and  so  hard-hearted ! "  mur- 
mured the  other,  eying  Bert  reproachfully. 
"  'Twas  ever  thus  from  childhood's  hour,  I 
was  born  under  an  unlucky  star.  Sir,  I  am 
afraid  I  must  withdraw  from  our  pleasant 
game  unless  you  will  kindly  lend  me  a  dollar 
to  continue." 

His  late  antagonist  shrugged  his  shoulders'. 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  would  benefit  me,"  he 
said.  "  We'll  wait  till  another  time  when  you 
are  in  funds.  Then  I  shall  be  happy  to  accom- 
modate you." 

"Did  you  lose  much?"  asked  Bert,  as  his 
companion  resumed  a  seat  at  his  side. 

"  Fifteen  dollars!  'Tis  not  much,  but  'twas 
my  all.  If  you  would  oblige  me  with  a  dollar, 
I  can  win  it  all  back." 

Bert  shook  his  head. 

"  I  have  no  money  of  my  own,"  he  said. 

"  Never  mind  I     Twenty  times  I  have  been 


i88  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

on  the  tlireshoLl  of  fortune,  and  failed  to  se- 
eure  it  by  my  funds  giving  out.  Be  it  so!  I 
will  no  longer  resist,  but  float  downward  to 
oblivion  over  the  rapids  of  disappointment." 

"  You  are  an  actor,  are  you  not?  "  said  Bert. 

"Yes;  at  least,  so  I  sometimes  flatter  my- 
self, though  the  critics  do  not  all  concede  it. 
If  you  are  going  to  remain  in  Harrisburg  long 
enough,  come  and  see  me  act." 

He  gave  Bert  his  card,  and  then  closing  his 
eyes,  passed  the  remainder  of  the  journey  in 
dozing. 

Arrived  in  Harrisburg,  Bert  found  himself 
besieged  by  hackmen,  representing  difi'erent 
hotels.  But  he  did  not  think  it  right  to  waste 
Uncle  Jacob's  money  in  unnecessary  expense. 
He  picked  out  a  bootblack,  and  showing  him 
the  address  of  Mrs.  Stubbs,  asked :  "  Is  that 
near  by?  " 

"  'Bout  quarter  of  a  mile,"  answered  the 
street  boy. 

"  What'll  you  ask  for  showing  me  the 
way?  " 

"  A  dime." 

"  Go  ahead,  then !  " 

In  five  minutes  Bert  found  himself  standing 
in  front  of  a  rather  shabby  three-story  house, 
in  a  decent,  but  not  fashionable,  street.  The 
name  Stubbs  was  on  the  door. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  189 

Bert  rang  the  bell,  and  inquired  for  Mrs. 
Stubbs, 

He  was  ushered  into  a  small  reception  room 
on  one  side  of  the  front  door,  furnished  in 
cheap,  boarding-house  style,  and  took  a  seat 
on  a  stiff-backed  cane  chair. 

Presently  a  thin  lady,  with  cork-screw  curls, 
and  a  pale,  washed-out  complexion,  entered 
the  room. 

"  Did  you  wish  to  see  me,  sir?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Bert.  "  You  answered  an 
advertisement  about  Ralph  Harding.  I  come 
from  New  York," 

"  Have  you  brought  my  money? "  asked 
Mrs.  Stubbs,  with  animation. 

"What  money  do  you  refer  to?" 

"  Mr,  Harding's  board  bill.  I  sent  it  in  the 
letter." 

"  We  don't  feel  called  upon  to  pay  Mr. 
Harding's  debts,"  returned  Bert,  who  had  been 
instructed  by  Uncle  Jacob  to  say  this. 

"Must  I  lose  thirty-two  dollars,  then?" 
said  the  lady  tragically.    "  It's  a  shame." 

"  No  doubt  it  is,  but  we  don't  even  know 
Mr.  Harding." 

"  Then  why  did  you  advertise  for  him?  " 

"  Because  we  want  his  testimony  in  a  law 
pase." 

^'  The  adyertisement  said  that  it  would  be, 


190  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

for  Mr.  Harding's  advantage  to  report  to  you.'* 

"  So  it  will,  if  we  can  find  him.  He  will  re- 
ceive money  enough  to  settle  your  bill,  and 
more,  too.  We  will  see  that  he  does,  if  you 
help   us   find   him." 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  wiping  to  do  all  I  can," 
said   Mrs.    Stubbs,   considerably    mollified. 

"Have  you  got  a  small  room  vacant?" 
asked  Bert.  "  I  may  be  detained  in  Harris- 
burg   for  a   while." 

"  Yes ;  you  can  have  the  one  Mr.  Harding 
used  to  occupy.  If  you  occupy  it  alone,  it  will 
be  five  dollars  a  week  with  board." 

"  I  will  take  it,"  said  Bert  promptly.  "  Can 
I  have  possession  at  once?  " 

"  Yes.     Let  me  show  you  the  way." 

The  room  was  on  the  third  floor.  It  was  a 
small  one,  but  would  answer  the  purpose. 
Bert  took  out  his  clothes,  and  laid  them  away 
in  the  pine  bureau  near  the  window. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  as  he  waited  for  the  bell 
to  summon  him  to  supper,  "  I  have  taken  the 
first  step  toward  finding  Ralph  Harding.  I 
am  occupying  the  room  which  was  once  his. 
What  shall  be  the  next  step?" 

He  little  anticipated  the  singular  experi- 
ence that  same  evening  had  in  store  for  him. 


^ 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  iQi 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 

A   BOARDING-HOUSE   IN    HARRISBURG. 

At  the  supper  table  Bert  made  acquaint- 
ance with  his  fellow-boarders.  There  were 
eight  in  all.  Three  of  them  worked  in  the 
shoe  factory  where  Ralph  Harding  had  been 
employed,  two  young  ladies  were  saleswomen 
in  a  dry-goods  store,  Professor  Silvio  and  wife 
taught  a  dancing  school,  and  the  eighth  was 
the  landlady's  daughter,  a  young  woman  of 
twenty-five,  who  resembled  Mrs.  Stubbs 
closely.  Bert  learned  afterward  that  she  was 
employed  in  a  millinery  store. 

"  Gentlemen  and  ladies,"  said  Mrs.  Stubbs, 
as  Bert  took  the  vacant  chair  that  had  been 
assigned  to  him,  "  let  me  introduce  a  new 
boarder,  Mr.  Barton." 

Eight  pairs  of  curious  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
Bert,  and  he  blushed  a  little,  not  being  ac- 
customed to  the  scrutiny  of  strangers'. 

"  He  is  a  friend  of  a  former  boarder,  Mr. 
Harding,  whom  some  of  you  will  remember." 

"  Have  you  heard  from  Mr.  Harding  lately, 
IMr.  Barton?  "  asked  Angelica  Stubbs,  who  sat 
next  to  our  hero. 

"  No,"  answered  Bert. 


IQ2  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 


"  He  left  quite  suddenly,  owing  ma  eight 
weeks'  board." 

"  So  I  heard." 

"  Do  3'ou  think  he  will  ever  pay  it  up?  " 

*'  If  I  succeed  in  finding  him  I  think  there 
is  some  chance  of  it." 

"  Mr,  Harding  and  I  were  very  good 
friends,"  continued  Miss  Stubbs.  He — in  fact 
— showed  quite  a  fondness  for  my  society," 
she  added,  casting  down  her  eyes  modestly. 

"No   wonder!"   said   Bert,   smiling. 

"Oh,  you  sad  flatterer  I"  said  Miss  Angel- 
ica, appearing  pleased  at  what  she  regarded 
as  a  compliment. 

"  Didn't  he  tell  yoii  where  he  was  going?  " 
asked  Bert. 

"No;  I  think  he  was  called  away  by  bad 
news." 

"  What  sort  of  a  looking  man  was  he? " 
Bert  inquired. 

"You  ask  me  that?"  said  Angelica,  in  sur- 
prise.    "  I  thought  you  were  a  friend  of  his." 

"  I  never  saw  him  in  my  life." 

"  That's  funny.  Why  then  did  ma  intro- 
duce you  as  a  frienrd  of  his?" 

"  She  thought  me  so.  I  am  interested  in 
finding  him,  that  is  all.'' 

"  You  are  not  a  horrid  detective,  I  hope? 
Has  poor  Mr.  Harding  committed  a  crime? 


r 


% 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  19;^ 

Oh,  tell  me  quick.  You  actually  make  me 
creep  all  over." 

"  I  don't  mean  any  harm,  but  his  testimony 
is  wanted  in  a  law  case.  You  haven't  told  me 
about  his  appearance  yet." 

"  I've  got  his  photograph,  and  will  show  it 
to  you  after  supper." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  I  "  said  Bert,  much  pleased. 

"  That  is,  if  you  are  sure  it  won't  do  him 
any  harm.  He  used  to  talk  to  me  very  con- 
fidentially, and  I  can't  help  liking  him,  even 
if  he  did  get  in  debt  to  ma." 

"  Perhaps  he  was  unfortunate  and  couldn't 
pay." 

"  That's  what  I  tell  ma,  but  ma's  rather 
severe  on  boarders  that  go  away  without  pay- 
ing her." 

"  Did  he  take  all  his  baggage  with  him,  Miss 
Stubbs?  " 

"  He  left  behind  a  box  of  books  and  papers. 
They  weren't  of  much  account — some  old 
letters  and  such." 

"Did  your  mother  preserve  them?"  asked 
Bert  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so ;  but  she  would  have 
preferred  to  have  him  leave  his  trunk.  That 
might  have  been  sold  for  a  part  of  his  board 
bill." 


i94  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  look  over  the  books 
and  papers?"  asked  Bert. 

"What  for?"  inquired  Angelica,  her  face 
expressing   curiosity. 

"  You  know  I  want  to  find  him,  and  some 
of  the  papers'  might  throw  light  on  his  move- 
ments." 

"  I  don't  know  but  you  could,"  answered 
Angelica  indifferently. 

"  I'll  be  willing  to  pay  your  mother  one 
week's  board  for  the  box  and  its  contents." 

"  Then  I  am  sure  she  will  let  you  have  them. 
They  are  worth  nothing  to  her.  I  only  w^onder 
she  hasn't  used  them  to  kindle  the  fire  with 
before  now." 

"  I  hope  she  hasn't,"  returned  Bert  anx- 
iously. 

"  No ;  I  know  she  hasn't,  for  I  saw  them  in 
the  attic  only  last  week.  I'll  look  them  up 
for  you  some  day  when  I  am  at  leisure." 

"Thank   you." 

"  I  wonder  Mr.  Harding  hasn't  written  to 
you,"  he  said,  a  little  later. 

"  Oh,  go  along !  You  don't  suppose  there 
was  anything  between  me  and  him?'*  said 
Angelica,  who  liked  nothing  better  than  to  be 
teased  about  the  attentions  of  members  of  the 
other  sex.    Bert  was  sharp  enough  to  see  this, 


r 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  195 

and  thought  he  might  make  it  available  in 
promoting  the  object  he  had  in  view. 

"  I  thought,  perhaps,  he  had  gone  away  be- 
cause you  didn't  smile  upon  his  suit." 

Miss  Angelica  laughed  and  tossed  her  head 
in  great  delight. 

*'  As  if  I  would  tell  you/'  she  said. 

"  I  only  hope  he  hasn't  committed  suicide." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Barton,  how  can  you?  Really,  I 
shall  have  to  complain  to  ma." 

All  this  was  very  amusing  to  Bert,  who  had 
a  natural  love  of  fun,  and  quite  understood 
Angelica  by  this  time,  though,  truth  to  tell, 
she  was  not  difficult  to  read. 

When  supper  was  over.  Miss  Stubbs  said 
graciously :  "  Mr.  Barton,  if  you  are  not 
pressed  for  time,  will  you  linger  a  while?  I 
play  a  little  on  the  piano,  and  if  you  are 
fond  of  music,  I  will  play  for  you.  Usually 
I  have  to  be  in  the  store,  but  this  is  my  eve- 
ning off." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  stay,  Miss  Stubbs.  I  am 
fond  of  music." 

"  Mr.  Harding  often  lingered  with  me  in 
the  evening  hours.    He  liked  to  hear  me  play." 

"  As  I  no  doubt  shall." 

"Do  you  sing,  Mr.  Barton?" 

"No;  I  wish  I  did." 

^ii.m  Angelica's  piano  was  probably  twenty* 


196  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

five  years  old,  and  was  very  much  out  of  tuna 
But  even  if  it  had  been  a  Chickering  Grand, 
her  playing  would  hardly  have  captivated  a 
musical  ear.  She  had  little  taste,  and  the  les- 
sons she  had  taken  had  only  given  her  the 
ability  to  play  a  few  easy  tunes. 

Bert  found  half  an  hour  of  Miss  Angelica's 
music  and  society  all  he  cared  to  enjoy  at  one 
time.  He  therefore  excused  himself,  and  tak- 
ing his  hat,  went  out  for  a  walk.  As  he  was  a 
stranger  in  Harrisburg,  he  was  not  particular 
in  what  direction  he  strolled,  but  naturally 
bent  his  steps  toward  what  appeared  to  be  the 
central  part  of  the  city. 

As  he  sauntered  along,  his  attention  was  at- 
tracted to  a  flaring  poster  on  a  dead  wall,  set- 
ting forth  the  attractive  features  of 

THE  STREETS  OF  GOTHAM. 

A  Realistic  Play  of  New  York  Life. 

As  given  by  a  Star  Combination  of  world-renowned  Actors. 

For  one  week  only. 

Reserved  seats,  50  cents.       Balcony,  25  cents. 

Now  Bert  had  seldom  enjoyed  an  opportu- 
nity of  attending  a  dramatic  performance,  and 
felt  strongly  tempted  to  avail  himself  of  the 
one  that  now  offered.  He  wished  to  be  as  eco- 
nomical as  possible,  and  decided  to  content 
himself  with  a  seat  in  the  balcony, 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  197 

"  Where  is  the  theatre?  "  he  asked  of  a  boy 
who  was  studying  the  bill  at  the  same  time 
with  himself. 

"  Just  round  the  corner.     I'll  show  you,'* 
was  the  reply. 
.   "  Thank  you." 

"Are  you  goin'  to  see  de  play?"  asked  the 
boy  with  interest. 

"  I  think  I  shall." 

"  I'd  go  myself  if  I  had  another  nickel," 
said  the  young  guide.     "  I've  got  ten  cents." 

"  But  I  thought  twenty-five  cents  was  the 
lowest  price." 

"  I  can  go  to  de  gallery  for  fifteen  cents*. 
De  gallery  is  good  enough  for  me." 

"  If  a  nickel  will  help  you,  here  is  one." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  boy.  "  It's  a  boss 
play,  dey  tell  me." 

"  I  hope  it  is,  as  I  am  going  myself." 

The  theatre  was  near  at  hand,  and  the  two 
boys  soon  stood  before  it.  It  was  rather  early, 
being  only  a  quarter  past  seven,  but  a  small 
crowd  of  boys  was  already  waiting  for  a 
chance  to  obtain  admission  to  the  gallery. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  hurry  about  buying 
a  ticket,  and  Bert  took  a  standing  position 
near  the  box  office,  surveying  with  interest 
the  passers  by.    All  at  once  he  felt  a  hand  on 


igS  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

his  shoulder,  and  these  words  fell  upon  hie 
ear: 

"We  meet  again,  mj  dear  boy.     Shake!" 

Bert  immediately  recognized  his  travelling 
friend  who  had  lost  his  money  on  the  train. 

"Are  you  one  of  the  dramatic  company?" 
lie  asked. 

"Yes;  I  play  the  leading  villain — and  am 
acting  stage  manager.  My  name  is  Orville — 
Jack  Orville.    You  have  heard  of  me." 

"  I  have  always  lived  in  the  country,"  said 
Bert  apologetically,  "  and  so  have  little  ac- 
quaintance  with   actors." 

Orville  looked  disappointed.  He  liked  to 
be  known  and   recognized. 

"  That  accounts  for  it,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
surprised  to  hear  that  you  are  from  the  coun- 
try.    You  have  the  city  air." 

Bert  was  pleased  to  hear  it,  though  per- 
haps that  might  be  a  mark  of  weakness. 

At  the  moment  another  man  came  up  hur- 
riedly, and  spoke  to  Orville. 

"  Here's  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish,  Orville,"  he 
said.  "  Bob  Hazleton  is  sick  and  insists  upon 
going  back  to  New  York.  Where  shall  we 
find  a  boy  to  take  his  place?  " 

Orville  had  an  inspiration.  He  clapped  his 
hand  on  Bert's  shoulder,  exclaiming :  "  Here 
he  stands ! " 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  199 

CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

BERT'S    FIRST   APPEARANCE   ON    ANY    STAGE. 

Bert  eyed  the  actor  with  amazement,  rather 
disposed  to  doubt  his  sanity. 

"  Do  you  mean  me?  "  he  said. 

"  Certainly." 

Has  he  ever  acted? "  asked  Pearson,  the 
second  actor,  doubtfully. 

"  No,  but  he  can  act.  I'll  undertake  to 
train  him." 

"  There  isn't  much  time.  Hazleton  can't  ap- 
pear to-night." 

"Don't  worry  I  I'll  see  that  he  is  not 
missed." 

As  Pearson  went  away,  Orville  s-aid: 
"  You'll  help  us  out,  won't  you,  my  boy?  " 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  asked 
Bert,  his  heart  beating  with  excitement. 

"  Take  the  part  of  a  newsboy.  You've  seen 
and  heard  them  in  the  streets  of  New  York, 
haven't  you?" 

"  Yes;  but  it  seems'  sudden.  I  should  have 
to  learn  the  part." 

"  All  told  there  are  not  more  than  twenty 
lines,  and  you  won't  come  on  till  the  second 
act.    You've  spoken  pieces,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes,  and  I  like  it," 


200  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  I  was  sure  of  it.     Then  jou  accept?  '* 

"  If  you  think  I  can  do  it,  and  will  tell  me 
exactly  what  to  do." 

"  Come  round  at  once  to  the  stage  entrance. 
I  will  give  you  your  lines  and  tell  you  the 
business.    We'll  speak  about  terms  later." 

As  Bert  followed  Orville  round  to  the  stage 
door  he  asked  himself  whether  he  was  not 
acting  foolishly  in  accepting,  at  such  short 
notice,  a  position  to  which  he  w^as  entirely  un- 
accustomed. If  he  had  not  liked  declamation, 
and  felt  moderately  self-possessed  before  an 
audience,  he  would  have  promptly  refused. 
As  it  was,  the  prospect,  while  it  somewhat 
daunted,  also  pleased  him.  Besides,  he  saw 
that,  though  he  might  not  be  able  to  fill  the 
place  of  Bob  Hazleton,  it  was  imperatively 
neces'sary  that  the  part  should  be  taken  by 
some  one,  and  there  was  no  time  to  lose  in 
hunting  up  another  boy.  If  he  did  poorly,  he 
could  limit  his  engagement  to  one  evening. 

He  was  not  at  home  behind  the  scenes,  and 
at  the  outset  came  near  tumbling  through  a 
trap  door.  He  followed  Orville  to  the  general 
dressing-room,  where  the  manager  assisted 
him  to  attire  himself  in  the  costume  provided 
for  the  newsboy.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  it 
was  not  of  a  costly  description,  and  would 
have  been  dear  at  a  dollar  and  a  half. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  201 

"  I'll  dress  you  first,  and  give  you  the  lines 
afterward." 

In  five  minutes  Bert  surveyed  himself  in  a 
cracked  mirror,  and  wondered  if  he  were  the 
same  boy.  Orville  ruffled  up  his  hair,  taught 
him  the  free  and  easy  wall^  of  the  typical 
newsboy,  briefly  instructed  him  in  the  "  busi- 
ness "  of  the  part,  and  then  gave  him  his  lines 
to  commit. 

"  Read  them  to  me,"  he  said.  "  I  want 
to  see  if  you've  caught  the  spirit  of  the  part." 

Of  course  Bert  needed  a  little  coaching,  but 
"caught  on,"  as  Orville  expressed  it,  with  re- 
markable quickness.  After  a  few  minutes' 
rehearsal,  his  teacher  said:  "You'll  do;  that 
is,  if  you  don't  get  rattled." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Get  an  attack  of  stage  fright,  and  forget 
your  lines.'^ 

"  I  won't  do  that,"  said  Bert  confidently. 

"  Then  you'll  have  no  trouble.  Now,  stay 
here  till  you  get  a  summons  from  the  call  boy. 
I  must  make  up  for  my  part,  though  I  don't 
appear,  either,  till  the  second  act.  Remember 
that  we  rely  upon  you." 

"  I'll  get  through,"  said  Bert  confidently. 

By  this  time  our  hero  looked  forward 
eagerly  to  the  moment  when  he  would  appear 
on  the  stage.    He  felt  excited,  and  yearned  to 


202  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

distinguish  himself.  He  wanted  to  justify  the 
stage  manager's  hasty,  and,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, rather  imprudent,  choice. 

He  waited  in  the  wings  till  he  heard  the  call 
boy's  summons,  and  then  made  his  entrance 
as  instructed  by  Orville.  He  glanced  at  the 
audience,  but  only  got  a  confused  impression 
of  hundreds  of  faces.  He  did  not  allow  him- 
self to  think  of  them,  but  addressed  himself 
to  the  business  of  his  part.  A  part  of  this 
was  to  rescue  a  little  girl  from  the  abuse  of  a 
tyrannical  old  woman.  He  recited  his  lines' 
with  spirit;  and  so  enlisted  the  sympathies  of 
those  present  by  his  manly  bearing  that  he 
received  a  tribute  of  applause.  The  scene 
came  just  at  the  close  of  the  second  act,  and 
when  the  curtain  fell  there  was  prolonged 
hand-clapping.  Bert  did  not  know  what  it 
meant,  but  Orville  came  up  to  him,  and  said : 
"  Go  before  the  curtain,  leading  Maud  by  the 
hand.    Bow  to  the  audience." 

Bert  was  a  little  bewildered,  but  followed  , 
directions.     The  corner  of  the  curtain   was': 
moved   aside,    and    Bert    walked    across    thet 
stage,  leading  little  Maud  (who  was  a  daugh- 
ter   of    the    leading    actress)    by    the    hand. 
Children  are  always  well  received,  and  there 
was  plenty  of  applause. 

When  Bert  reappeared  behind  the  scenes, 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  203 

Orville  said,  "  Barton,  you  did  yourself 
proud!  Keep  it  up  when  you  appear  again 
in  the  fourth  act,  and  you  may  consider  your- 
self an  actor." 

In  the  fourth  and  last  act  Bert  went  on  the 
stage  in  his  street  dress.  His  circumstances 
and  his  social  position  were  supposed  to  have 
improved. 

At  the  close  of  the  performance  Orville  in- 
troduced Bert  to  the  different  members  of 
the  company. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  never  acted 
before? "  asked  Mr.   Pearson. 

"  This  is  my  first  appearance  on  any  stage," 
said  Bert  with  a  smile. 

"  Then  you  have  done  yourself  great  credit. 
I  was  myself  trained  at  Wallack's  Theatre, 
but  had  been  a  year  on  the  boards  before  I 
could  acquit  myself  as  well  as  you." 

"  Thank  you.  I  have  done  better  than  I  ex- 
pected." 

"  You  more  than  filled  Hazleton's  place." 

"  Has  he  been  long  with  you?  " 

*'  A  year." 

Bert  felt  this  was  indeed  praise,  that  on  his 
first  appearance  he  should  have  equaled  a  boy 
with  a  year's  experience. 

"  Of  course  you  will  play  with  us  the  bal- 
ance of  the  week?"  said  Pearson. 


204  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  If  jou  wish  me  to  do  so." 

"  What  salary   will  you  expect? " 

Bert  smiled. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  will  be  a  fair  price  to 
ask.'' 

"  We  will  give  you  the  same  salary  that 
Hazleton  received,  fifteen  dollars  a  week,  and 
you  pay  your  own  board.  Is  that  satisfac- 
tory? " 

Bert  opened  his  eyes.  Fifteen  dollars  a 
week  seemed  to  him  a  large  sum,  for  evening 
work.  He  found  afterward  that  he  was  ex- 
pected to  appear  at  rehearsal;  but  even  with 
this  additional  duty,  the  post  appeared  to  him 
an  easy  one. 

"  I  accept  the  terms,"  he  said. 

"All  right;  where  are  you  boarding?" 

He  gave  the  address. 

"  Please  be  at  the  theatre  to-morrow  at 
ten,  and  Mr.  Pearson  will  hear  you  rehearse 
and  give  you  a  few  points." 

Unknown  to  Bert  there  were  two  persons 
present  at  the  theatre  that  night  who  recog- 
nized him.  One  of  the  male  boarders, 
prompted  by  a  rather  significant  hint  from 
Miss  Angelica,  had  invited  that  young  lady 
to  accompany  him  to  the  performance.  They 
sat  in  the  sixth  row  from  the  stage,  though 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  205 

Bert,  who  attended  only  to  his  duties,  did  not 
gee  them. 

When  he  jQrst  came  on  as  a  newsboy.  Miss 
Stubbs  said :  "  How  much  that  newsboy  looks 
like  Mr.  Barton,  ma's  new  boarder." 

"  He  does  look  some  like  him." 

"  But  of  course  it  isn't  he.  I  wonder  if  he 
is  here  this  evening." 

"  I  don't  see  him  anywhere,"  said  the 
escort. 

When  Bert  appeared  in  his  own  clothes  in 
the  fourth  act,  Angelica  exclaimed :  "  Why,  it 
is  Mr.  Barton,  after  all !  Is  it  possible  that  I 
know  a  live  actor?  Why,  I  was  talking  to 
him  at  supper,  and  he  was  really  quite  atten- 
tive to  me." 

"  He  is  put  down  on  the  bill  as  Bob  Hazle- 
ton,"  said  the  young  man,  consulting  the  pro- 
gramme. 

"  That  must  be  his  stage  name.  I  will  get 
him  to  tell  me  all  about  acting  to-morrov;. 
Do  you  know,  Mr.  Cutting,  I  should  like  to  go 
on  the  stage  myself?  I  should  so  like  to  play 
Juliet." 

"  If  you  do,  will  you  let  me  be  Romeo?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  desire  it,"  said  Angelica,  tap- 
ping her  escort  coquettishly  with  her  fan. 

It's  safe  to  say  that  Mr.  Cutting,  who  was 
barely  five  feet  iu  height,  and  Miss  Angelica, 


2o6  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

who  was  tall,  thin,  and  angular,  would  have 
made  a  very  remarkable  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

As  Bert  left  the  stage  door,  a  boy  touched 
his  arm.  Looking  round  he  saw  that  it  was 
the  one  who  had  guided  him  to  the  theatre. 
The  boy's  face  wore  a  respectful  look  as  he 
said: 

"  Say,  you  didn't  tell  me  you  was  one  of  de 
actors." 

"  I  didn't  know  it  myself,"  answered  Bert. 

"  It  was  you  that  took  off  de  newsboy,"  con- 
tinued the  boy. 

"  Yes',  but  I'm  not  the  regular  actor.  He's 
sick  and  I  took  his  place." 

"  It  was  tiptop.  Are  you  goin'  to  act  to- 
morrow night?  " 

"  I  shall  act  all  this  week." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  de  play  again.  It's  a  boss 
play." 

Bert  felt  in  a  liberal  mood. 

"  Here  is  fifteen  cents,"  he  said.  "  Tell 
your  friends  to  come." 

"  I'll  bring  'em.  I'll  tell  'em  I  know  one  of 
de  actors." 

It  may  be  remarked  that  Tom  Roach,  for 
this  was  the  boy's  name,  gave  such  glowing  ac- 
counts of  the  play  to  his  intimate  friends  that 
no  less  than  ten  of  them  accompanied  him  to 
itbe  theatre  the  next  evenipg,  and  were  espe- 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  207 

cially  enthusiastic  when  Bert  was  on  the 
stage.  Tlieir  liberal  applause  raised  Bert  in 
the  good  opinion  of  the  management,  who  felt 
that  they  had  secured  a  prize  in  the  new  actor. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

BERT  SECURES  A  BOX  OF  MR.  HARDING'S  PAPERS. 

When  our  hero  went  down  to  breakfast 
next  morning,  he  found  himself  the  observed 
of  all  observers.  Miss  Angelica  Stubbs  and 
her  escort  had  already  made  known  that  he 
was'  a  member  of  the  dramatic  company,  and 
as  none  of  the  boarders  had  ever  before  met 
"  a  live  actor,"  all  felt  great  curiosity  and  a 
desire  to  become  acquainted  with  so  distin- 
guished a  public  character. 

As  he  took  his  seat  beside  Miss  Stubbs,-  she 
said :  "  I  saw  you  on  the  stage  last  evening, 
Mr.  Barton." 

"  Did  you?  I  was  not  aware  that  you  were 
in  the  house." 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  you  were  an 
actor?    I've  got  a  bone  to  pick  with  you." 

"  I  didn't  know  it  myself,  Miss  Stubbs." 

''  You  mean  to  say  you  didn't  play  the  news- 
boy?   Oh,  Mr.  Barton  !  " 


^o8  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Yes ;  but  when  I  left  the  house  I  had  no 
idea  of  playing.  It  so  happened  that  the 
young  actor  who  usually  takes  the  part — Bob 
Hazleton — was  sick,  and  I  was  applied  to  by 
the  manager  to  take  his  place." 

"  Then  he  knew  you  were  an  actor?  " 

"No;  I  only  fell  in  with  him  on  the  train 
from  New  York." 

"  Why  you  acted  just  as  if  you  were  used  to 
it." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so.  I  hardly  dared  to 
accept  the  part." 

"  Will  you  play  the  rest  of  the  week?  " 

"  I  have  agreed  to  do  so.  Hazleton  goes 
home  to-day." 

"  How  nice !     I  must  go  again." 

"  I  take  that  as  a  compliment." 

"  Can't  you  actors  take  your  friends  in 
free? "  asked  Angelica,  w^hose  rule  was  to 
make  all  she  could  out  of  her  acquaintances. 

"  I  haven't  been  an  actor  long  enough  to 
find  out." 

"  I  should  consider  it  such  a  favor.  I  would 
get  all  my  friends  to  go." 

"  On  the  same  terms?  "  asked  Bert  with  a 
smile. 

"  No.     They  can  pay." 

Bert  did  secure  a  complimentary  ticket  for 
Miss   Stubbs,  w^ho  boajsted  everywhere  that 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  209 

she  was  intimately  acquainted  with  one  of  the 
leading  actors  in  "  The  Streets  of  Gotham," 
and  that  he  was  really  very  attentive  to  her. 

"  What  would  my  friends  at  Lakeville  say 
if  they  knew  my  new  business? "  thought 
Bert.  "  I  should  be  glad  if  Percy  JMarlowe 
could  see  me  on  the  stage." 

He  determined,  however,  not  to  say  any- 
thing in  his  letters  about  this  new  engage- 
ment, for,  thougli  he  had  been  successful  thus 
far,  his  success  and  popularity  might  not  last. 

"  Did  you  see  the  notice  of  your  play  in 
the  morning  paper,  Mr.  Barton?"  asked  Miss 
Angelica. 

"  No ;  I  haven't  seen  the  paper  yet." 

"  It  speaks  of  one  of  the  actors.  I  won't  say 
who,"  continued  Miss  Stubbs,  nodding  play- 
fully. 

"  Do  you  mean  me?  "  asked  Bert  in  excite- 
ment. 

"  Yes,  here  it  is." 

Bert  ran  his  eye  hastily  over  the  notice, 
which  occupied  a  quarter  of  a  column.  This 
is  the  portion  that  most  interested  him : 

"  The  part  of  the  newsboy  was  effectively 
taken  by  Mr.  Bert  Barton,  who  was  engaged 
at  the  last  moment  to  fill  the  place  of  Mr. 
Hazleton.  IJis  acting  was  spirited,  and  the 
fact  that  it  was  liked  was  shown  by  the  hearty 


210  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

call  before  the  curtain  at  the  end  of  the  second 
C:Ct.  The  management  are  fortunate  in  secur- 
ing so  good  a  substitute  for  Bob  Hazleton." 

Bert's  face  showed  his  gratification.  "  It 
almost  seemed  a  dream  to  him  that  he  had 
really  appeared  on  the  stage,  and  he  was  glad 
that  he  had  given  satisfaction. 

At  ten  o'clock  he  reported  at  the  stage  en- 
trance, where  he  was  met  by  Mr.  Pearson,  who 
was  associate  manager.  He  went  through  a 
rehearsal  which  enabled  him  to  look  forward 
with  more  confidence  to  a  repetition  of  the 
part. 

The  afternoon  he  had  to  himself,  and  a  part 
of  this  he  spent  in  trying  to  find  out  what  he 
could  about  Ralph  Harding.  He  learned  that 
Harding  had  been  employed  in  the  shoe  fac- 
tory of  Benedict  &  Co.  Two  of  Mrs.  Stubbs's 
boarders  worked  at  the  same  place,  but 
neither  had  been  intimate  with  Harding. 
Bert  learned  that  he  was  looked  upon  as  "  a 
rolling  stone,"  never  content  to  remain  long 
in  one  place.  He  had  been  employed  less 
than  six  months  at  the  Benedict  shop,  when, 
without  assigning  any  reason,  he  gave  notice 
that  he  wanted  to  leave. 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he?  "  asked  Bert. 

"  He  is  restless  and  at  times  gloomy,"  an- 
swered Blanchard,  to  whom  he  had  put  the 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  211 

question.  "  I  worked  next  to  him,  but  lie 
seldom  made  any  conversation  with  me." 

"  Was  he  a  good  workman?  " 

"  Excellent,  but  he  evidently  did  not  like 
the  business.  He  often  lamented  that  he  had 
not  the  means  of  getting  out  of  it." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  where  he  went  when 
he  left  Harrisburg?  " 

"  From  what  I  have  heard  him  say,  I  think 
it  probable  that  he  went  to  some  Western 
tow^n  or  city.^' 

"  You  have  not  heard  from  him  since  he 
left  Harrisburg?  " 

"  No;  he  was  not  likely  to  correspond  with 
me.  I  doubt  if  he  was  intimate  enough  with 
any  one  here  to  do  so,  except  possibly  with 
Miss  Stubbs,"  added  Blanchard,  with  a  smile. 

"  She  tells  me  Mr.  Harding  paid  her  a  good 
deal  of  attention."' 

"  It  is  more  probable  that  Miss  Stubbs  paid 
him  a  good  deal  of  attention.  At  present  you 
are  her  favorite." 

"  I  don't  want  to  interfere  with  you,  Mr. 
Blanchard,"  said  Bert,  much  amused. 

"  I  can't  undertake  to  compete  with  an 
actor,  Mr.  Barton." 

"  I  can't  get  over  my  surprise  at  being 
called  an  actor.  However,  as  long  as  it  pays 
jue  better  than  anything  filso,  I  don't  object," 


212  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Stubbs  intercepted  Bert 
as  he  was  leaving  the  house. 

"My  daughter  tells  me,"  she  said,  "that 
you  are  willing  to  pay  four  dollars  for  the 
papers  which  Mr.  Harding  left  behind  him?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Bert  eagerly. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  sell  them.  I 
'can't  afford  to  lose  eight  weeks'  board." 

"  Quite  true,  Mrs.  Stubbs.  I  don't  see  why 
they  won't  be  just  as  safe  in  my  hands  as  in 
yours." 

"  You  don't  want  to  do  Mr.  Harding  any 
harm;  though  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
think  of  that,  after  the  way  he  has  served 
me ! " 

"  Instead  of  that,  Mrs.  Stubbs,  I  can  assure 
you  that  it  will  be  money  in  his  pocket,  if, 
through  his  papers,  I  am  able  to  find  him." 

"  And  in  that  case  you  will  try  to  get  him 
to  pay  his'  honest  debts?" 

"  I  will,  Mrs.  Stubbs." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Barton,  if  you  will  come  up  to 
the  attic  I  will  hand  you  the  papers." 

Bert  gladly  followed  Mrs.  Stubbs  upstairs, 
and  was  shown  on  the  attic  floor  a  wooden 
hox  about  half  full  of  old  letters  and  other 
papers.  The  box  certainly  did  not  look  very 
valuable,  and  Bert  said  so. 

^^  X  wouldn't  have  kept  it,"  said  the  land- 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  213 

lady,  "  if  I  could  have  got  hold  of  Lis  trunk. 
But  he  got  the  start  of  me,  and  it  was  in  the 
hands  of  an  expressman  before  I  knew  that 
he  was  going  to  move.  I  was  downstairs  in 
the  basement  when  Mr.  Harding  took  the  ex- 
pressman upstairs,  and  the  trunk  was  brought 
down  and  put  in  his  wagon  before  I  knew 
what  was  going  on.  Mr.  Harding  didn't  even 
say  good-by,  and  I  haven't  seen  or  heard  of 
him  from  that  day  to  this." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Stubbs,  here  are  your  four  dol- 
lars, and  I  hope  you  will  some  day  get  the 
balance  of  the  debt." 

Bert  carried  the  box  downstairs  and  into 
his  room,  where  he  proceeded  to  examine  the 
contents,  among  which  he  was  destined  to 
come  across  a  document  of  considerable  in- 
terest to  him. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

BERT  OBTAINS  AN  IMPORTANT  CLEW. 

Mr.  Harding  was  not  a  literary  man,  and 
his  papers  would  hardly  have  been  of  any 
value  to  a  publisher.  They  consisted  prin- 
cipally of  letters,  some  of  them  ten  years  old. 
It  seemed  to  have  been  a  habit  of  Ralph  Hard- 
ing to  keep  his  letters,  though  he  probably 
set  no  great  value  upon  them. 


Si, 


214  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Bert  opened  fifteen  or  twenty,  and  glanced 
over  them,  only  to  find  that  they  related  to 
\  matters  in  which  he  felt  no  interest  whatever. 
'  He  began  to  doubt  whether  they  were  even 
worth  the  small  sum  he  had  paid  for  them, 
when  all  at  once  he  made  a  discovery.  He 
found  a  letter  dated  Lakeville. 

"Who  can  have  written  him  from  Lake- 
ville? "  he  asked  himself,  and  naturally 
turned  the  page  to  read  the  signature. 

His  heart  beat  quickly  when  he  read  the 
name  of  the  writer — Albert  Marlowe.  It  was 
dated  about  two  years  previous,  and  ran  as 
follows : 


Dear  Sir  :  I  have  received  your  letter,  and  am  surprised 
that  you  should  have  the  boldness  to  write  to  me  for  money.  I 
am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  have  been  in  bad  luck,  but  I  presume 
it  is  your  own  fault.  You  are  able  to  earn  good  wages,  and 
ought  to  pay  your  own  way  without  depending  on  anybody. 
Look  at  me  1  I  was  once  a  common  workman  like  you,  but, 
thanks  to  my  energy  and  enterprise,  I  am  now  the  owner  of  a 
large  factory,  and  able  to  live  in  comparative  luxury.  I  don't 
know  why  you  should  expect  me  to  support  you.  I  have  a 
family  of  my  own  to  care  for,  and  my  first  duty  is  to  them. 

You  intimate  that  you  are  in  possession  of  a  secret  which,  if 
made  known,  will  injure  me.  I  suppose  I  know  what  you 
mean.  I  don't  think,  however,  that  you  will  find  any  one  to 
believe  what  you  may  say  to  my  disadvantage,  and  I  warn  you 
to  be  careful  what  you  do,  or  I  may  testify  that  you  yourself 
took  the  missing  bonds.  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  write  to  me 
again,  for  it  will  be  time  thrown  away. 

Albert  Marlowe. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  215 

Underneath  the  signature  were  a  few  lines, 
evidently  written  by  Ralph  ELarding: 

Who  would  believe  that  the  writer  of  this  letter  is  a  thief, 
and  that  the  capital  on  which  he  started  in  business  was  stolen  ? 
I  bitterly  repent  that  I  was  induced  to  join  in  the  plot  against 
poor  Barton.  He — poor  fellow — is  in  exile,  afraid  to  return  to 
his  own  country,  while  the  man  who  committed  the  crime 
which  has  shadowed  his  life,  is  rich  and  prosperous,  and  holds 
up  his  head  in  society.  And  I— miserable  tool  that  I  was— by 
my  testimony  helped  him  to  fasten  the  crime  on  an  innocent 
man.  I  don't  know  whether  it  will  do  any  good  to  write  again. 
I  am  a  poor  man,  and  Albert  Marlowe  is  rich.  He  will  defy  me, 
and  perhaps  swear  that  I  was  implicated  in  the  robbery  myself. 
So  I  was,  alas  !  for  I  accepted  a  bribe  of  two  hundred  dollars 
for  my  part  in  the  matter.  I  wish  I  could  see  poor  Barton 
righted  1 

Bert  read  this  letter  with  flushed  face  and 
beating  heart.  Here  was  proof  positive  that 
his  father  was  innocent;  and  Albert  Marlowe, 
the  rich  manufacturer,  the  magnate  of  Lake- 
ville,  was  guilty  not  only  of  robbery,  but, 
what  was  even  more  contemptible,  had 
schemed  successfully  to  throw  the  guilt  upon 
an  innocent  man,  the  husband  of  his  cousin. 
Through  him  John  Barton  had  suffered  a  ten- 
years'  exile,  and  had  been  deprived  for  that 
time  of  his  good  name  and  the  society  of  hie 
family. 

"  I  wouldn't  take  a  thousand  dollars  for 
this  letter,"  said  Bert  to  himself  in  exultation. 
"  I  don't  know  what  it  amounts  to  in  the  eyes 


2i6  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

of  the  law,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  valuable.  Now, 
if  I  could  only  find  Ralph  Harding  liimself." 

Bert  continued  his  search  among  the  letters, 
and  finally  found  one  postmarked  Peoria,  Il- 
linois, which  appeared  to  have  been  received 
by  Ralph  Harding  about  a  week  before  he  left 
Harrisburg. 

This  is  an  extract  therefrom : 

It  is  five  years  since  I  have  seen  you.  This  is  a  long  separa- 
tion considering  that  we  two  are  the  only  ones  left  of  the 
family.  If  you  are  in  your  old  business  as  I  infer  from  youi 
letter,  why  can't  you  get  work  just  as  well  here  in  Peoria  as  iij 
Harrisburg?  There  is  a  large  shop  here,  where  I  think  yoy 
would  not  have  any  difficulty  in  sec^^ring  employment.  I  pre- 
sume  as  good  wages  are  paid  here  as  at  the  East.  We  have  a 
small  room  which  you  could  occupy,  and  it  would  be  pleasant 
for  a  brother  and  sister  who  have  been  so  long  separated  to 
find  themselves  under  the  same  roof. 

My  husband  is  a  carpenter,  as  you  know.  His  earnings  are 
not  large,  and  he  doesn't  always  have  work,  but  we  have  a  little 
sum  saved  up  which  we  can  fall  back  upon  in  time  of  need.  I 
can't  lend  you  any  money,  and  indeed  you  ought  not  to  expect 
it,  as  you  are  a  single  man,  and  have  no  one  to  take  care  of  but 
yourself.  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  a  very  good  manager.  Come 
to  Peoria,  and  I  will  see  if  I  can't  help  you  save  money.  Con- 
sider what  a  position  you  would  be  in  if  you  should  fall  sick. 
Your  affectionate  sister, 

Helen  Clifton. 

Underneath,  in  Ralph  Harding's  handwrit- 
ing, was  this  brief  indorsement: 

All  true,  every  word  of  it  !  Helen  was  always  prudent  and  a 
good  manager.  It  is  true,  as  she  says,  that  there  are  but  two 
of  us.    Why  shouldn't  I  go  to  Peoria,  and  see  her  ? 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  217 

There  was  no  more;  but  as  Ralph  Harding 
a  week  later  left  Harrisburg,  it  seemed  fair  to 
infer  that  he  had  adopted  his  own  half-ex- 
pressed intention,  and  gone  to  Peoria,  to  see 
his  sister,  especially  as  there  seemed  a  good 
chance  of  his  obtaining  work  there  in  his  own 
line. 

"  Peoria ! "'  repeated  Bc^rt  thoughtfully. 
"  The  chances  are  that  Ralph  Harding  went 
there  from  Harrisburg,  and  it  is  very  probable 
that  he  is  there  now.  I  wi;-h  I  could  find  some 
one  that  could  tell  me  about  the  place." 

"  Mr.  Pearson,"  he  said,  when  he  met  the 
associate  manager  at  rehearsal,  "  can  you  tell 
me  anything  about  Peoria?  " 

^'  Yes,"  answered  the  actor.  "  What  do  you 
want  to  know  about  it?  " 

"  How  large  a  place  is  it?  " 

"  About  the  size  of  Harrisburg.  I  don't 
believe  there  is  a  thousand  difference  in  the 
population." 

"  Is  it  far  from  here?  " 

"  A  matter  of  six  or  seven  hundred  miles,  I 
should  think,  perhaps  a  little  more.  It  is 
southeast  of  Chicago.  Why  do  you  want  to 
know?" 

"  I  want  to  find  a  man  who,  I  have  reason 
to  think,  is  now  living  there.    I  may  have  to 


2i8  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

leave  the  company,  as  it  is  very  important  for 
me  to  find  this  man." 

**^  There  will  be  no  occasion  for  you  to  leave 
the  company.  When  we  leave  Harris'burg,  we 
jump  to  Chicago,  and  probably  three  weeks 
from  now  we  shall  be  playing  in  Peoria.  It  is 
on  our  list  of  places,  and  is  a  very  good  city 
for  a  short  engagement.  Will  that  be  soon 
enough? '' 

Bert  hesitated.  If  he  remained  with  the 
company,  his  expenses  would  be  paid  out  to 
Peoria,  and  he  would  be  earning  fifteen  dollars 
a  week  besides. 

"  Come,  now,  don't  hesitate  I "  said  Mr. 
Pearson.  "  We  shouldn't  know  how  to  get 
along  without  you." 

Naturally  this  pleased  Bert,  and  helped  to 
fix  his  resolution. 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  can  wait  two  or  three 
weeks,"  he  said  slowly,  "  if  you  are  sure  we 
shall  play  at  Peoria." 

"  I  am  certain  of  it.  The  route  was  made 
up  this  morning.  We  are  having  some  new 
bills  printed  in  which  your  name  is  substi- 
tuted for  that  of  Bob  Hazleton.  So  you  see, 
my  boy,  you  will  be  getting  a  reputation  un- 
der your  own  colors." 

This  had  its  effect,  for  Bert  felt  that  he 
should  like  to  have  a  bill  of  the  play  in  which 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  219 

his  own  name  appeared.  Otherwise  he  might 
,  find  his  friends  incredulous  as  to  his  having 
I  actually  been  upon  the  stage.  Later  in  the 
day  he  gave  his  promise  that  he  would  go 
with  the  company  when  they  left  Harrisburg, 
but  would  not  sign  an  engagement  for  any 
definite  time,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  put  any 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  his  following  any  clew 
that  might  lead  to  the  discovery  of  Harding. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Barton,"  said  Mrs.  Stubbs  after 
supper,  "  did  you  find  anything  of  value  in 
that  box  of  papers?" 

"Yes;  I  obtained  some  information  that 
will  probably  be  of  value.  Besides  it  gave  me 
a  clew  to  his  present  residence." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Angelica,  who  was  present, 
"  where  is  he?  " 

"  In  Peoria,  Illinois.  He  has  a  married 
sister  living  there." 

"Shall  you  go  out  West  to  find  him?" 

"  I  expect  to  go  with  the  company.  They 
will  play  an  engagement  in  Peoria." 
'  "If  you  see  Mr.  Harding,  please  remember 
me  to  him.  Say — that  is,  you  may  hint  that  I 
still  think  of  him  with  interest,  and — and 
hope  he  will  some  day  return  to  us." 

"  That  message  ought  to  bring  him,  Mi&'s 
Angelica." 

"  Of  course  I  only  think  of  him  as  a  friend, 


220  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

but  we  were  very  congenial,  and  it  is  not  often 
Jhat  one  meets  a  congenial  spirit." 

"  Why  not  send  a  letter  to  Mr.  Harding  by 
me?" 

"  I — that  is;  mamma,  do  you  think  it  would 
be  proper? "  asked  Angelica  with  bashful 
hesitation. 

"  I  don't  know  w^hy  not,"  answered  Mrs. 
Stubbs  promptly.  "  You  might  ask  in  the 
letter  when  it  will  be  convenient  for  him  to 
pay  his  board  bill." 

"  Oh,  ma,  how  unromantic !  " 

"  It  may  not  be  romantic,  Angelica,  but  it's 
business,"  said  the  practical  mother. 

Miss  Stubbs  did  write  the  letter,  but  it  is 
certain  she  did  not  mention  the  board  bill 
in  it. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

SQUIRE  MARLOWE  IS  SURPRISED. 

It  may  be  well  to  return  to  Lakeville,  as 
something  has  occurred  there  which  deserves 
to  be  recorded. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Mrs.  Barton  missed 
Bert,  whose  bright  and  cheerful  presence  had 
filled  the  little  house  with  comfort  and  glad- 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  221 

dened  his  mother's  heart.  Still  she  knew  that 
he  was  well,  and  heard  from  him  every  week, 
though  Bert  only  detailed  his  experiences  in 
general  terras,  not  caring  to  raise  expectations 
which  perhaps  might  prove  illusive. 

Bert's  absence  from  Lakeville  excited  some 
surprise  and  speculation.  Squire  Marlowe,  to 
whom  it  had  been  mentioned  by  Percy, 
stopped  Mrs.  Barton  in  the  street  one  day, 
and  said :  "  Percy  tells  me  that  your  son  is 
away." 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  is  he?  " 

"  He  went  to  New  York." 

"  Is  he  at  work  there?  " 

"  No,  he  is  travelling." 

"Travelling?     What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Uncle  Jacob  has  sent  him  off  on  some 
mission.    He  is  at  Harrisburg,  I  believe." 

"That  is  very  strange!"  remarked  the 
squire,  arching  his  eyebrows.  "  What  possi- 
ble mission  can  Jacob  have  for  the  boy?  " 

"He  doesn't  write  particulars;  but  his 
expenses  are  paid." 

"  I  don't  see  how  Jacob  Marlowe,  with  h's 
paltry  twelve  dollars  a  week,  can  make  such 
arrangements." 

"Nor  I;  but  probably  Uncle  Jacob  has  in- 
terested  his  employer  in  Bert." 


222  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  It  may  be  so,  but  I  think  it  very  unwis9 
to  send  off  a  boy  by  himself.  What  judgment 
lias  he,  or  what  can  he  do?  " 

"  I  don't  very  well  know.  He  seems  to  en- 
joy the  trip." 

"Of  course;  but  it  will  spoil  him  for  solid 
work.     He  had  better  have  stayed  at  home." 

"  What  encouragement  was  there  for  him 
to  stay  in  Lakeville?  If  you  had  not  dis- 
charged him,  he  would  be  here  now.  If  you 
will  take  him  back  into  the  factory,  I  will 
write  him  to  that  effect,  and  perhaps  it  will 
induce  him  to  return.-' 

"Ahem!  I  will  think  of  it.  Does  he  send 
you  any  money?  " 

"  Not  yet."  '^ 

"  Then  how  do  you  live?  " 

"  Without  calling  upon  you,  Albert,"  said 
Mrs.  Barton,  with  a  little  tinge  of  bitterness. 
"  I  hardly  think  you  feel  enough  interest  in 
me  to  care  how  I  live." 

Albert  Marlowe  was  somewhat  embarrassed, 
and  regretted  that  he  had  asked  the  question. 
Mrs.  Barton  might  take  it  into  her  head  that 
he  was  willing  to  contribute  to  her  support, 
and  this  was  far  from  being  the  case. 

"  Wbmen  look  at  things  from  a  peculiar 
point  of  view,"  he  said.  "Of  course  I  wish 
^ou  well,  ancl  for  that  reason  regret  that  you 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  223 

are  so  injudicious  in  your  management  of 
Bert." 

"  I  have  no  fear  but  that  Bert  will  turn  out 
well,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Barton  proudly. 

"Ahem!  I  hope  so,  though  that  twenty- 
dollar  affair  led  me  to  fear  that  he  had  in- 
herited loose  ideas  about  honesty." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Barton,  her  cheeks  aflame  with  indignation. 

"  I  shouldn't  think  you  would  need  to  ask. 
Of  course  we  both  know  why  Mr.  Barton  is 
an  exile,  unaule  to  return  home." 

"  Yes,  Albert  Marlowe,  wc  do  know !  He  is 
an  innocent  man,  suffering  for  the  crime  of 
another." 

"  That  is  what  he  says,  is  it?  "  sneered  the 
squire.     "  That  might  be  expected." 

"  Because  it  is  true ;  but,  Albert  Marlowe, 
I  have  good  hopes  that  his  innocence  may  be 
vindicated,  and  the  real  criminal  brought  to 
light." 

Her  intense  gaze  made  the  squire  uncom- 
fortable. "  Did  she  mean  anything? "  he 
asked  himself. 

"  It  is  natural  for  you  to  take  the  most 
favorable  view  of  the  matter,"  he  said ;  "  but 
your  hope  is  hardly  likely  to  be  realized. 
Good-morning." 

Mrs.  Barton  looked  after  him,  and  her  spirit 


224  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

rose  in  revolt  against  the  ine<iualities  of  for- 
tune. Here  was  the  real  criminal,  as  she 
fully  believed — rich,  prosperous,  enjoying  a 
high  social  position,  while  her  poor  husband, 
the  scapegoat  for  another's*  offense,  was  an 
exile  from  home. 

The  next  day  Squire  Marlowe  went  to  New 
York  on  business.  He  occasionally  visited 
Wall  Street,  and  now  and  then  made  an  in- 
vestment. He  looked  the  embodiment  of  dig- 
nity and  respectability,  with  his  ample  figure, 
fine  broadcloth  suit,  and  gold-rimmed  eye- 
glasses, and  might  readily  have  been  taken  for 
a  prosperous  and  wealthy  city  banker. 

About  one  o'clock  he  entered  an  expensive 
restaurant,  a  stone's  throw  from  Broadway, 
and  taking  up  the  bill  of  fare  made  a  selec- 
tion of  dishes  for  his  dinner.  As  he  did  so, 
he  said  to  himself,  with  a  comfortable  smite: 
"  When  I  was  a  common  workman  in  a  shoe 
shop,  how  little  did  I  think  that  I  should  ever 
be  able  to  sit  down  in  a  restaurant  like  this, 
and  pay  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  my  dinner. 
Why,  I  didn't  earn  much  more  than  that  by  a 
day's  labor.  Here  I  am  surrounded  by  bro- 
kers, bankers,  and  wealthy  merchants',  and 
quite  as  good  as  they." 

The  thought  led  Squire  Marlowe  to  look 
around  him.     What  he  saw  almost  paralyzed 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  225 

him  with  surprise.  There — at  a  neighboring 
table — sat  Uncle  Jacob,  enjoying  a  luxurious 
diiiner,  the  cost  of  which  the  squire,  with  the 
bill  of  fare  before  him,  estimated  must  come 
to  a  high  figure, 

"Can  that  be  Uncle  Jacob?"  Albert  Mai*- 
lowe  asked  himself  in  amazement.  "  How 
on  earth  can  a  clerk  on  twelve  dollars  a  week 
salary  afford  to  dine  at  a  restaurant  like 
this?"" 

As  he  had  not  yet  given  his  order,  he  moved 
over  to  the  table  occupied  by  Uncle  Jacob,  and 
took  a  seat  opposite  him. 

"  Albert  Marlowe !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
recognizing  him  with  surprise. 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Jacob,  it  is  I.  But  what  on 
earth  brings  you  here?  " 

"  I  should  think  it  was  pretty  evident,"  said 
Jacob  Marlowe  with  a  smile,  "  I  came  in  for 
my  dinner." 

"  Yes,  but — do  you  usually  come  here?  " 

"  Not  always — perhaps  half  the  time.  I 
make  my  heartiest  meal  of  the  day  at  this 
time — unlike  most  New  Y^orkers — and  like  it 
to  be  a  good  one." 

"  Of  course,  but — how  can  you  afford  to  eat 
here?  Didn't  you  say  that  your  salary  was 
twelve  dollars  a  week?  " 

"  I  think  I  said  so." 


226  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  You  are  spending  at  that  rate  for  your 
dinners  alone.  I  don't  understand  liow  you 
"can  do  it." 

"  I  am  an  old  man,  Albert.  I  can't  live 
many  years,  and  I  think  it  sensible  to  get  as 
much  comfort  out  of  life  as  possible  for  my 
few  remaining  years." 

"  Still " 

"  I  had  a  little  money,  you  know,  five  hun- 
flred  dollars,  and  I  have  managed  to  turn  it 
to  good  account,  so  that  I  don't  feel  quite  so 
cramped  as  when  I  was  at  Lakeville." 

"  The  old  man's  been  speculating!  "  thought 
Albert  Marlowe,  ''  and  he  has  had  a  stroke  of 
luck;  but  he's  a  fool  to  think  he  can  live  like 
a  banker  on  the  strength  of  that.  Very  likely 
his  next  venture  will  sweep  away  his  small 
amount  of  capital.  Well,  if  he  comes  to  grief, 
he  needn't  apply  to  me.  Henceforth  I  wash 
my  hands  of  him  and  his  affairs  altogether." 

"  Of  course  it's  your  own  lookout,"  he 
said,  "  but  to  me  you  seem  recklessly  extrava- 
gant." 

"  Because  I  come  in  here?  Well,  perhaps 
so.  When  I  find  I  can't  afford  it,  I'll  go  to  a 
cheaper  place.  Have  you  seen  Mary  Barton 
lately?  " 

"  Yes ;  she  is  well.  By  the  way,  what  have 
you  done  with  her  boy?  " 


Fiv-^  Hundred  Dollars.  227 

"  He  is  trayeling." 

"  So  I  heard.  It  seems  to  me  a  very  foolish 
proceeding.     Who  is  paying  his  expenses?  " 

"  Himself." 

"  Is  he  working,  then?  "  asked  the  squire  in 
surprise. 

"Yes;  he  is  a  member  of  the  'Streets  of 
Gotham  '  company,  and  is  earning  his  living 
as  an  actor." 

"  What  does  he  know  about  acting?  "  asked 
the  squire  in  amazement. 

"  It  appears  that  he  is  giving  satisfaction. 
He  sent  me  a  paper  containing  a  highly  com- 
mendatory notice  of  his  first  appearance." 

"  It  won't  last,"  said  Albert  Marlowe,  his 
wish  being  father  to  the  thought. 

When  he  returned  to  Lakeville  that  evening, 
he  carried  with  him  two  pieces  of  news — first, 
that  Uncle  Jacob  was  living  in  luxury,  and 
secondly,  that  Bert  Barton  was  on  the  stage. 

"  If  he  can  act,  I  can,"  said  Percy  jealously. 
"  They  must  have  been  hard  up  for  an  actor 
when  they  took  Bert  Barton.  A  boy  brought 
up  in  a  country  town.  Never  been  to  a 
theatre  in  his  life  before.  Pooh!  I  dare  say 
he  appeared  for  one  night  only.  The  idea  of 
Mary  Barton's  son  acting  before  a  regular 
audience,  a  boy  who  has  hoed  corn  for  farmer 
Wilson ! " 


228  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

HIRAM  FRENCH,  OF  CHICAGO. 

From  Harrisbiirg  the  dramatic  company 
with  which  Bert  was  connected  went  directly 
to  Chicago. 

"  We  don't  like  to  make  such  long  jumps," 
said  Mr.  Pearson,  with  whom  Bert  had  be- 
come quite  friendly,  "  but  we  could  secure 
Hooley's  Theatre  this  week,  and  no  other. 
Were  you  ever  in  Chicago?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Bert.  "  I  have  never  trav- 
eled much.     I  suppose  you  have." 

"  Yes ;  I  went  out  to  San  Francisco  last 
year  with  the  '  Silver  King.'  You  will  find 
Chicago  a  pleasant  city." 

"  Are  the  hotels  dear?  " 

"No;  only  moderate  in  price.  The  theatri- 
cal people  get  a  discount,  you  know." 

"  I  think  I  should  rather  live  in  a  board- 
ing house." 

"  That  will  be  cheaper.  I  don't  mind  going 
with  you  to  keep  you  company." 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  good  bouse?  " 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  229 

"  I  know  a  very  comfortable  boarding-house 
on  Monroe  Street,  kept  by  Mrs.  Shelby,  a 
widow  lady.  My  sister  once  boarded  there, 
when  visiting  Chicago." 

"  That  will  suit  me,  I  think.  Would  you 
mind  going  'round  with  me?  " 

"  I'll  take  you  there,  with  pleasure." 

The  two,  on  arriving  in  Chicago,  went  at 
once  to  Monroe  Street,  and  called  at  the  board- 
ing-house. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Pearson,"  said 
the  widow  cordially.  "  Is  your  sister  with 
you?" 

"  Not  this  time." 

"Are  you  going  to  play  here?" 

"Yes;  I  shall  appear  at  Hooley's  Theatre 
all  next  week." 

"  Is  that  young  gentleman  your  brother?  " 

"  No,  he  is  one  of  our  actors,  Mr.  Bert  Bar- 
ton." 

"  He  looks  young  for  an  actor,"  said  the 
landlady,  surprised. 

"  I  appeared  on  the  stage  when  I  was  only 
twelve.  But  we  have  come  on  business,  Mrs. 
Shelby.     Have  you  a  vacant  room?" 

"  Yes;  I  had  one  vacated  yesterday." 

"  Suppose  Mr.  Barton  and  myself  take  it 
for  a  week?" 


^30  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you.  I  can't  af- 
ford to  have  my  rooms  remain  vacant." 

"  What  will  be  your  terms?  " 

"  Six  dollars  each,  including  board." 

"  Is  that  satisfactory,  Bert?  "  asked  Pear- 
son. 

"  Quite  so,  Mr.  Pearson." 

"  Then  we  will  take  possession.  I  hope  it 
is  almost  time  for  a  meal,  Mrs.  Shelby.  I  am 
almost  famished." 

"  You  will  only  have  to  wait  an  hour.  I 
will  show  you  to  your  rooms,  and  then  I  must 
be  excused,  as  my  presence  is  required  down- 
stairs." 

The  room  shown  by  the  landlady  was  of  fair 
size  and  neatly  furnished.  Bert  looked  about 
him  in  satisfaction. 

"  I  would  rather  be  here  than  at  a  hotel," 
he  said. 

"  So  would  I,  as  long  as  I  have  a  compan- 
ion," returned  Mr.  Pearson.  "  Besides,  I 
shall  be  saving  from  four  to  five  dollars  a 
week.  I  ought  to  pay  more  than  half  of  it, 
as  I  am  receiving  a  considerably  higher  salary 
than  you." 

"  No,  Mr.  Pearson,  I  prefer  to  pay  my 
share.  But  for  you  I  should  be  paying  more 
at  a  hotel." 

Bert  felt  a  little  diffidence  in  appearing  be- 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  231 

fore  a  Chicago  audience.  He  bad,  to  be  sure, 
>been  favorably  received  in  Harrisburg,  but  be 
had  an  idea  that  in  a  larger  city  it  would  be 
more  difficult  to  achieve  success.  The  irst 
night  undeceived  him.  He  received  a  liberal 
share  of  applause,  and  was  called  before  the 
curtain. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Bert,"  said  Mr.  Pear- 
son. "  You  seem  to  have  made  yourself  solid 
with  the  audience." 

"  I  am  glad  that  I  give  satisfaction,"  re- 
turned Bert.  "It  will  encourage  me  to  do 
better." 

"  You  had  better  adopt  the  profession  of  an 
actor,"  contiuued  his  friend. 

Bert  shook  his  head. 

"  I  prefer  to  enter  a  business  of  some  kind," 
he  said.  "  Though  I  have  succeeded  in  one 
part,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  succeed  in 
others." 

Bert  was  about  leaving  the  theatre  that 
night  when  the  call  boy  brought  him  a  card. 

"  There  is  a  gentleman  at  the  door  would 
like  t(?  see  you,"  he  said. 

Bert  glanced  at  the  card,  and  found  it  bore 
the  name  of 

HIRAM   FRENCH. 

It  was  a  name  he  had  never  before  heard, 
and  when  he  reached  the  door  he  looked  in- 


232  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

quiringly  at  the  middle-aged  gentleman  who 
stood  before  him. 
^     "  You  are  young  Barton?  "  said  the  visitor. 

"Yes;  that  is  my  name." 

"  Are  you  the  son  of  John  Barton,  who 
once  worked  in  the  shoe  factory  of  Weeks 
Brothers?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Bert,  coloring,  for  he 
knew  that  the  stranger  must  be  aware  that 
his  father  was  resting  under  a  criminal 
charge. 

"  I  thought  I  could  not  be  mistaken.  You 
look  as  your  father  did  at  your  age." 

"  Then  you  knew  my  father  as  a  boy?  "  said 
Bert,  eagerly. 

"  I  was  a  schoolmate  of  his.  Later  on  I 
was  employed  in  the  same  factory  with  him — 
that  of  Weeks  Brothers." 

"  Did  you  know  under  what  circumstances 
he  left  the  factory?  "  asked  Bert,  with  some 
embarrassment. 

"  Yes,  I  knew  all  about  it.  But  I  want 
you  to  come  home  and  pass  the  night  at  my 
house,  and  we  will  talk  over  that  and  other 
matters." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  will  give  notice  to  a 
friend  who  rooms  with  me." 

Bert  found  Mr.  Pearson,  and  informed  him 
that  he  would  absent  himself  for  one  night 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  233 

from  Mrs.  Shelby's  boarding-house.  Then  he 
returned  to  ]Mr.  French. 

"  I  live  on  Indiana  Avenue,"  explained  the 
latter.  "  We  shall  find  a  car  at  the  corner  of 
State  and  Madison  Streets." 

As  they  walked  to  the  car,  Bert's  new  friend 
asked :  "  How  long  have  you  been  on  the 
stage,  Mr.  Barton?  " 

"  Only  two  weeks." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  that  comprises  your 
whole  experience." 

"  Yes.  I  stepped  in  at  Harrisburg  to  sup- 
ply the  place  of  a  young  actor  who  was  taken 
sick." 

"  You  act  as  if  you  had  been  trained  to  it. 
But  how  came  you  to  be  at  Harrisburg?  That 
is  not  your  home?  " 

"  No.  As  you  were  my  father's  friend,  I 
will  tell  you  what  brought  me  out  there." 

Bert  briefly  related  the  story  that  is  already 
known  to  the  reader.  Hiram  French  listened 
with  great  attention. 

"  I  remember  Ralph  Harding,"  he  said. 
"  He  was  not  popular  among  his  shopmates, 
especially  after  his  agency  in  throwing  suspi- 
cion upon  your  father." 

"  Was  it  generally  thought  that  my  father 
was  guilty?  "  asked  Bert. 

"No;    while    circumstances    were    strong 


234  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

against  him,  no  one  could  believe  that  a  man 
whose  reputation  for  integrity  was  as  high  as 
your  father's  would  be  guilty  of  stealing.  But 
the  good  will  of  his  associates  could  not  help 
him." 

"  Did  you  know  Mr.  Marlowe?  " 

"Albert  Marlowe?     Yes." 

"Was  he  well  liked?" 

"  Not  by  me.  He  was  far  from  being  as 
highly  respected  as  your  father." 

"  Yet  he  has  prospered.  He  is  the  owner 
of  a  factory  in  Lakeville,  and  is  considered 
worth  thirty  thousand  dollars." 

"  I  am  surprised  to  hear  it.  When  I  knew 
him  he  was  always  in  debt." 

"  If  he  really  took  the  bonds  charged  upon 
my  father,  that  would  account  for  his  start 
in  business." 

"  Exactly  so.  Now  that  I  think  of  it,  two 
or  three  days  after  the  theft,  I  saw  him  and. 
Ralph  Harding  walking  together,  apparently 
engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  They  evi- 
dently had  a  good  understanding  with  each 
other.  I  believe  you  are  on  the  right  track, 
and  I  heartily  hope  you  will  succeed  in  mak- 
ing your  father's  innocence  evident  to  the 
world.  John  Barton  was  my  favorite  friend, 
and  I  hope  some  day  to  see  him  in  Chicago." 

"Are  you  in  business  here,  Mr.  French?" 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  235 

"Yes;  I  am  In  the  old  line.  Like  Albert 
Marlowe,  I  am  the  owner  of  a  large  shoe  fac- 
tory, and  I  am  worth,  I  should  say,  consider- 
ably more  money.'' 

Hiram  French  occupied  a  handsome  house 
on  Indiana  Avenue,  furnished  with  taste,  and 
was,  as  his  style  of  living  showed,  in  easy  cir- 
cumstances. He  introduced  Bert  to  his  wife 
and  daughter,  who  seemed  at  once  drawn  to 
the  young  actor.  When  he  left  the  house  the 
next  morning  after  breakfast  he  was  urgently 
invited  to  call  again  during  his  stay,  and  par- 
tially promised  to  do  so.  But  he  was  in  haste 
to  reach  Peoria,  for  there  it  was  he  hoped  to 
find  a  witness  that  would  vindicate  his  father's 
iQame  and  fame. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A  LATE  ARRIVAL  AT  MRS.  BARTON'S  COTTAGE. 

One  evening,  about  eight  o'clock,  Mrs.  Bar- 
ton was  sewing  in  her  little  sitting-room  w^hen 
an  unusual  feeling  of  loneliness  overcame  her. 
Circumstances  had  separated  her  from  her 
husband,  and  her  only  son  was  hundreds  of 
miles  away. 

"Why,"  she  asked  herself,  "can  I  not  fare 


236  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

as  well  as  other  wives  and  mothers?  I  am  a 
^wife,  yet  I  cannot  enjoy  my  husband's  society. 
Fortunately  I  am  not  likely  long  to  be  sepa- 
rated from  Bert.  If  he  only  succeeds  in  his 
mission,  and  comes  home  able  to  vindicate  the 
fame  of  his  father,  and  restore  him  to  me,  I 
shall  be  perfectly  happy." 

She  felt  unusually  restless,  and  found  it 
difficult  to  keep  on  with  her  work. 

"  I  feel  as  if  something  were  going  to  hap- 
pen. I  hope  no  misfortune  is  impending  over 
me." 

She  had  hardly  spoken  when  the  door  bell 
rang. 

"  It  is  some  neighbor  come  to  make  a  call," 
she  thought.  "  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  I  am  not 
in  the  mood  for  work." 

She  rose  and  opened  the  door.  She  started 
back  in  surprise  when  in  her  visitors  she  recog- 
nized Uncle  Jacob,  and  leaning  upon  his  arm 
the  husband  of  whom  she  had  just  been  think- 
ing. 

"May  we  come  in?"  asked  Uncle  Jacob, 
cheerily. 

"  Surely,  but — has  anything  happened?  " 

"  Only  this ;  that  your  husband  is  sick  and 
has  come  here  to  be  nurs'ed  back  to  health  by 
my  advice." 

"  But— is  it  safe?  " 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  237 

"  I  think  so.  The  fact  is,  Bert  has  made  an 
important  discovery,  and  is  likely  to  make 
more.  We  are  in  a  fair  way  to  prove  your 
husband's  innocence,  and  put  the  guilt  where 
it  belongs.' 

"  And  where  does'  it  belong?  " 

"  The  man  who  stole  the  bonds,  we  have 
every  reason  to  believe,  is  Albert  Marlowe." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  get  him  into  trouble,  but 
if  it  is  necessary  in  order  to  vindicate  my  hus- 
band's reputation,  I  will  not  object." 

"  Albert  Marlowe  has  been  a  cruel  enemy  to 
you  and  your  family,"  said  Jacob  Marlowe, 
sternly.  "  He  is  entitled  to  no  consideration. 
The  past  ten  years  cannot  be  recalled;  but  I 
think  that  we  shall  be  able  to  provide  a 
brighter  future  for  yourself  and  Mr.  Barton. 
The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  get  him  well." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  John?" 
asked  Mrs.  Barton,  now  for  the  first  time  not- 
ing with  alarm  her  husband's  pale  face. 

"  The  doctor  says  my  system  is  run  down, 
and  that  I  need  time  to  recuperate.  I  was  liv- 
ing in  a  boarding-house  in  Montreal,  and  the 
prospect  of  being  sick  there  was  too  much  for 
me.  I  ^Aanted  my  wife  to  take  care  of  me, 
and,  taking  the  first  train  to  New  York,  I  con- 
sulted Uncle  Jacob  as  to  whether  it  would  be 
safe.     In  the  li^ht  of  Bert's  discoveries  he  told 


238  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

me  to  take  the  risk.  So  here  I  am.  May  I 
stay?" 

'"  Do  you  need  to  ask  that?  "  said  Mrs*.  Bar- 
ton, with  an  affectionate  glance  at  her  hus- 
band. "  There  is  no  place  where  you  have  a 
better  right  to  be." 

Then,  as  she  thought  of  her  scanty  means, 
a  momentary  look  of  anxiety  overspread  her 
face  lest  she  should  not  be  able  to  provide  him 
with  the  medicines  and  nourishing  food  that 
he  required.  Uncle  Jacob,  who  was  a  keen  ob- 
server, read  her  thoughts,  and  reassured  her 
by  saying:  "Mr.  Barton  is  provided  with 
what  money  may  be  required  for  at  least  a 
month,  and  after  that  time  I  think  some  more 
can  be  found." 

"  But,  Uncle  Jacob,  I  cannot  consent  to  im- 
pose upon  your  liberality  any  further.  You 
have  but  a  small  sum  of  money  yourself. 
What  would  happen  to  you  if  you  should  fall 
sick?" 

"  I  think  I  should  follow  your  husband's 
example,  and  come  here  to  be  nursed  back  to 
health,"  replied  Uncle  Jacob. 

"  What  am  I  to  say  to  the  neighbors,  for 
they  will  be  sure  to  inquire?  " 

"  Say  that  you  are  taking  care  of  a  sick  gen- 
tleman from  New  York." 

^'  It  will  not  do  to  give  his  real  name?  " 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  239 

"  No ;  call  me  Mr.  Kobinson,  as  you  did  on 
my  former  visit/'  said  Mr.  Barton. 

"  Now  that  this  matter  is  arranged,  can  you 
take  care  of  us*  both  to-night?  "  asked  Uncle 
Jacob. 

"  Yes,  there  is  Bert's  room." 

"  Then  I  will  trespass  upon  your  hospitality 
for  one  night." 

"  Can't  you  stay  longer,  Uncle  Jacob?  " 

"  No,  I  must  get  back  to  business.  I  must 
not  run  any  risk  of  losing  my  situation,  you 
know.'' 

"  To  be  sure  not,"  said  Mrs.  Barton,  earn- 
estly. Do  you  like  your  employer,  Uncle 
Jacob?  " 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  him,"  an- 
swered the  old  man,  with  a  smile.  "  He  lets 
me  do  about  as  I  please," 

"  You  were  very  lucky  in  getting  in  with 
him." 

"  As  you  say,  I  am  in  good  luck.  But  I 
think  I  ought  to  get  higker  pay." 

"  It  seems  to  me  twelve  dollars  a  week  is  a 
very  good  salary,"  said  Mrs.  Barton,  soberly. 
"  You  could  save  something  out  of  that  if  you 
were  not  so  generous." 

''  I  must  think  seriously  of  that,  Mary.  If 
I  get  mean  and  close-fisted,  you  mustn't  be 


240  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

surprised.  It  will  be  only  because  I  follow 
your  advice." 

"  You  can  never  become  mean  or  close- 
fisted,  Uncle  Jacob.  It  isn't  in  your  nature 
to  be  either.  But  I  hope  you  will  be  reason- 
ably economical,  and  not  give  away  so  much 
money  to  others." 

"  You  are  a  good  little  woman,  Mary,"  said 
Uncle  Jacob,  feelingly.  "  If  you  are  ever 
blessed  with  means,  you  will  do  just  as  you 
advise  me  not  to  do.  Don't  be  worried  about 
me,  Mary.  God  loves  a  cheerful  giver,  you 
know,  and  whatever  I  give  to  you  is  cheerfully 
given." 

An  hour  was  spent  in  conversation,  and 
then,  as  Mr.  Barton  showed  fatigue,  he  and 
Uncle  Jacob  retired  to  bed,  and  Mrs.  Barton 
mixed  some  flour  so  as  to  be  able  to  give  her 
guests  warm  biscuits  in  the  morning,  for  she 
remembered  that  her  husband  had  been  very 
fond  of  them  in  former  years. 

The  next  morning  after  breakfast  Uncle 
Jacob  took  his  departure. 

"  I  leave  you  in  good  hands,  John,"  he  said 
to  Mr.  Barton.  "  Now,  get  well  as  fast  as 
you  can." 

"  There  is  one  thing  that  will  make  me 
well,"  said  Barton,  "  and  that  is,  vindication 
from  the  false  charge  that  has  darkened  my 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  24I 

life  and  destroyed  my  happiness  during  the 
last  ten  years." 

"  That  is  coming,  and  coming  soon,"  said 
Uncle  Jacob.  "  Only  be  patient  a  little  while. 
Bert  has  already  made  a  discovery  that  makes 
it  clear  who  is  the  real  criminal." 

"  I  hope  he  will  never  suffer  as  I  have 
done,"  said  the  sick  man. 

"  You  have  a  more  Christian  spirit  than  I, 
John.  I  think  it  only  right  that  he  should 
suffer  for  the  wrong  he  has  done  you.  Well, 
good-by.  Let  me  hear  from  you,  and  if  Bert 
makes  any  further  progress  in  his  mis'sion,  I 
will  apprise  you  and  Mary." 

Uncle  Jacob  left  the  village  without  being 
seen  by  Albert  Marlowe  or  Percy,  who  alone 
were  likely  to  recognize  him.  But  it  leaked 
out  that  Mrs.  Barton  had  a  boarder,  Percy  be- 
ing the  first  to  hear  of  it. 

"What  do  you  think,  papa?"  he  said  one 
day,  "  Bert  Barton's  mother  has  taken  a 
boarder   from   the  city." 

"  A  boarder  from  the  city?"  repeated  Squire 
Marlowe,  surprised. 

"  Yes." 

"What  brought  him  to  Lakeville?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  can  tell  you  who  brought 
him  here." 

"Who,  then?" 


242  Five  Hundred  LH-)llars. 

"  Uncle  Jacob.'' 

"  Has  he  been  here,  then?  " 

"  Yes;  he  came  in  the  evening  and  w-ent  back 
the  next  morning." 

"  I  wonder  he  did  not  call  upon  us/'  said 
the  squire  thoughtfully. 

"  It's  no  great  loss  if  he  didn't,"  returned 
Percy,  pertly.  "  He  would  probably  want  to 
borrow  money." 

"  No ;  he  appears  to  be  doing  very  well  in 
the  city;  that  is,  for  him.  But  what  could  in- 
duce a  gentleman  from  the  city  to  come  here 
to  Lakeville  to  board  in  a  humble  cottage?  " 

"  I  hear  he  is  in  poor  health,"  said  Percy. 

"  Have  you  seen  him?  Do  you  know  what 
his  appearance  is?" 

"  Yes.  I  saw  him  sitting  at  Mrs.  Barton's 
window.  He  is  of  dark  complexion,  and  has 
dark  hair.  Then  he  seemed  to  have  a  high 
forehead." 

Squire  Marlowe  started  in  surprise. 

"  Dark  complexion,  dark  hair,  a  high  fore- 
head !     Is  it  possible  that  it  can  be " 

"  Who,  father?  "  asked  Percy,  curiously. 

"  Never  mind,  my  son.  Some  one  whom  I 
used  to  know  answers  to  that  description." 

As  Percy  went  out,  Albert  Marlowe  said  to 
himself:  "  If  it  should  be  he,  what  shall  I  do 
about  it?    It  is  not  for  my  interest  that  he 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  243 

should  remaiu  in  Lakeville.  I  might  de- 
nounce him  to  the  authorities,  but  I  would 
warn  him  first.  Then,  if  he  still  lingers,  he 
must  take  the  consequences." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

BERT  INTERVIEWS  HARDING'S  SISTER. 

The  next  week  Bert  found  himself  in  Pe- 
oria. His  heart  beat  with  excitement,  for  here 
he  hoped  he  would  attain  the  object  he  had  in 
view. 

The  first  day  he  was  occupied  in  obtaining 
a  boarding  place,  and  in  matters  connected 
with  the  play.  He  understood  his  duty  to 
his  employers,  and,  eager  as  he  was  to  seek 
out  Ralph  Harding,  he  waited  till  he  could  do 
so  without  intrenching  upon  their  time. 

After  considerable  inquiry  he  found  him- 
self standing  in  front  of  a  neat-looking  frame 
house  of  two  stories  in  a  quiet  street.  The 
plate  on  the  front  door  bore  the  name 

CLIFTON. 

Bert  rang  the  bell. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  girl  about  twelve 
years  of  age. 


244  I^ive  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Clifton  at  home?  "  asked  Bert. 

"Yes,  sir.     Won't  you  walk  in?" 

She  led  the  way  into  a  tiny  parlor,  so  small 
that  the  owner  would  have  found  it  difficult 
to  give  a  fashionable  party,  or  indeed  any; 
party  at  all. 

"  Sit  down  here,"  said  the  young  girl,  point- 
ing to  a  rocking-chair,  "  and  I  will  call-ika.." 

Bert  took  a  seat,  and  was  startled  a  minute 
later  by  a  hoarse  voice  saying,  with  much 
energy,  "  Get  out,  you  tramp !  -' 

He  looked  around  the  room  in  angry  amaze- 
ment, but  could  see  no  one. 

Directly  afterward  he  heard  a  discordant 
laugh,  and,  guided  by  the  sound,  looked  up  to 
see  that  it  proceeded  from  a  green  parrot  in 
a  cage  above  his  head. 

Bert  smiled.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to 
be  angry  with  a  parrot,  however  impolite  the 
bird  might  be. 

Just  then  a  lady  entered  the  room — a  lady 
of  middle  size  and  middle  age,  plain  in  fea-^ 
ture,  but  not  unpleasant  to  look  upon. 

"  Did  you  wish  to  see  me,  sir?  "  she  asked. 

"  Are  you  the  sister  of  Ralph  Harding?  " 
asked  Bert. 

The  woman's  face  changed  instantly. 

^*  TeSj"   she  aPi^wered   eagerly,    i'  Po  jou 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  245 

bring  me  any  news  of  him?  He  is  not  in  trou- 
ble, is  he?  " 

It  was  Bert's  turn  to  be  surprised. 

"  I  thought  he  was  staying  with  you,"  he 
said. 

"  Not  now." 

"  But  he  has  been  here.  He  came  here  from 
Harrisburg,  didn't  he?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he  was  here  till  three  weeks  ago. 
Then  he  came  home  from  the  shop  where  he 
was  at  work  and  told  me  he  was  going  away." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  where  he  was  going?  " 
asked  Bert,  eagerlj'. 

"  He  said  he  should  go  to  Chicago  first,  but 
I  have  not  heard  from  him  since  he  went 
away." 

Ralph  Harding  then  was  in  Chicago.  If 
Bert  had  only  known  that,  he  would  have  re- 
mained there  and  prosecuted  the  search  in. 
the  Lake  City.  Yet  what  chance  would  he 
have  of  finding  a  man  whom  he  had  never  seen 
and  would  not  know  by  sight  in  so  large  and 
populous  a  place? 

His  face  showed  the  keenness  of  his  disap- 
pointment, and  Mrs.  Clifton  was  led  to  in- 
quire: 

"  Did  you  wish  to  see  my  brother  on  busi- 
ness of  importance?  " 

"  Of  importance  to  me,  yes." 


246  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Is  it,"  she  asked  with  hesitation,  "  likely 
to  get  Ralph  into  trouble? " 

"  No,  madam.  On  the  contrary,  if  I  find 
him  it  will  be  of  advantage  to  him." 

"  Then  I  hope  you  may  find  him.  But  I  am 
afraid  it  will  be  difficult.  Ralph  is  very  rest- 
less. We  tried  all  we  could  to  keep  him  here, 
but  it  was  of  no  use.  He  had  a  good  place, 
and,  though  I  say  it  myself,  a  good  home, 
where  he  enjoyed  every  comfort,  but  all  that 
didn't  prevent  him  leaving  us  to  go  among 
strangers,"  she  concluded,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  only  just  came  from. Chicago.  I  wish  I 
had  known  that  he  was  there." 

"  Did  you  come  to  Peoria  expressly  to  see 
my  brother? "  asked  Mrs.  Clifton,  showing 
eome  curiosity. 

"  Not  entirely.  I  am  connected  with  the 
theatrical  company.  We  play  the  '  Streets  of 
Gotham.' " 

"  Are  you  an  actor,  and  so  young,"  asked 
Mrs.  Clifton,  in  surprise. 

"  I  take  a  small  part  in  the  play,"  answered 
Bert,  modestly.  "  Allow  me  to  place  two  ad- 
mission tickets  at  your  dispos'al." 

"Oh  ma,  can  I  go  with  you?"  asked  the 
young  girl  who  had  opened  the  front  door. 

"  Perhaps  so,  Belle." 

"  Have  you   any  picture  of  your  brother 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  247 

W'hioli  you  could  show  me?  "  asked  Bert,  re- 
turning to  the  object  of  his  visit. 

"  Fortunately,  Ralph  had  some  photographs 
taken  while  he  was  here.  But  for  me  he 
would  not  have  done  so,  but  I  insisted,  and 
paid  for  them  myself.  Belle,  go  and  get  one 
of  the  pictures  of  your  Uncle  Ralph." 

The  little  girl  left  the  room,  and  soon  re- 
turned with  a  photograph. 

"  You  can  have  that,  if  you  like,"  said  Mrs. 
Clifton.  "  I  got  a  dozen,  and  Ralph  did  not 
feel  enough  interest  to  keep  one  for  himself, 
so  I  have  plenty.  I  suppose  it  isn't  anything 
extra,  but  it  look  like  Ralph." 

Bert  was  eagerly  scanning  the  picture  which 
Ralph  Harding's  sister  had  given  him. 

The  face  was  long,  the  nos'e  aquiline,  the 
cheeks  hollow,  and  the  expression  was  that  of 
a  man  who  was  dissatisfied  with  life.  There 
■were  side  whiskers  of  scanty  growth,  and  there 
"was  a  scrubby  mustache  of  yellowish  hue.  It 
was  a  front  view,  and  both  ears  were  visible. 
They  were  of  extraordinary  size  and  stood  out 
prominently  from  the  head. 

"  I  think  I  shall  know  Ralph  Harding  if  I 
S'ee  him,"  thought  Bert. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  pic- 
ture," said  Bert.  "  With  it  to  help  me  I  hope 
I  may  find  your  brother." 


248  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  If  you  do,"  returced  Mrs.  Clifton,  "  will 
you  write  to  me  and  let  me  know,  Mr. ?  " 

"  Barton.  You  will  see  my  name  on  the 
playbill — Bert  Barton.  Yes,  I  will  write  to 
you  in  that  case." 

"  There  is  one  question  I  would  like  to  ask 
you,  Mr.  Barton.  You  say  you  have  never 
met  my  brother?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  how  did  you  learn  that  he  had  a  sis- 
ter in  Peoria,  and  how  did  you  know  that  that 
sister  was  myself." 

"  I  was  staying  at  his  old  boarding-house  in 
Harrisburg.  He  left  behind  a  box  of  papers, 
and  among  those  papers  was  a  letter  from  you, 
urging  him  to  come  to  Peoria." 

"  I  remember  that  letter." 

"  It  was  that  letter — excuse  my  reading  it 
— that  led  me  to  come  to  Peoria  in  search  of 
Mr.  Harding." 

''  I  am  glad  you  came,  for  I  have  some  hope 
through  you  of  inducing  Ralph  to  return. 
You  see,  Mr.  Barton,  there  are  only  two  of 
us.  I  had  not  seen  him  for  five  years,  and 
now  that  he  has  left  us,  five  years  more  may 
roll  by  before  we  meet  again.  I  think  Ralph 
would  be  better  with  us.  He  is  not  a  cheerful 
man.  Sometimes  I  think  he  is  burdened  with 
a  secret  which  is  preying  upon  him.     I  am 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  249 

sure  he  would  be  better  off  with  us  than  amoDj^ 
fctrangers." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Mrs.  Clifton.  You 
may  rest  assured  that,  should  I  be  fortunate 
enough  to  find  your  brother,  I  will  do  all  I 
can  to  induce  him  to  return  to  you  when  our 
business  is  concluded.  This  may  require  him 
to  go  East,  but  afterward  he  will  be  free  to  go 
where  he  pleases.  The  secret  you  refer  to  may 
relate  to  the  business'  upon  which  I  wished  to 
see  him. 

As  Bert  rose  to  go  Mrs.  Clifton  took  his 
hand,  and  said,  earnestly :  "  I  wish  you  suc- 
cess, I  am  sure.     I  feel  better  for  your  visit." 

The  information  which  Bert  had  received 
made  him  desirous  of  going  back  to  Chicago 
as  soon  as  possible  and  making  every  effort  to 
find  Ralph  Harding.  But  there  was  one  em- 
barrassment. He  did  not  like  to  leave  the 
company  till  they  were  able  to  find  a  substi- 
tute. In  New  York  this  would  have  been 
easy,  but  here  in  Peoria  there  would  be  a  great 
difficulty. 

But  he  was  unexpectedly  relieved  from  this 
perplexity. 

On  Friday  morning  Mr.  Pearson,  who  had 
just  come  from  the  manager's  room,  said  to 
him,  "  I  have  news  for  you,  Bert.^' 

"  What  is  it,  Mr.  Pearson?  " 


250  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Bob  Hazleton  has  just  arrived,  and  wants 
to  take  his  old  place.  But,  of  course,  that 
would  not  be  fair  to  jou." 

"  Tell  the  manager  to  take  him  back,"  said 
Bert  eagerly.  "  I  have  some  important  busi- 
ness calling  me  to  Chicago,  and  I  shall  be  glad 
to  resign." 

"  You  are  sure  you  won't  be  disappointed?  " 

"  Very  sure.  I  have  been  wondering  how  I 
could  resign  without  embarrassing  the  com- 
pany." 

"  We  shall  be  very  sorry  to  lose  you,  but  if 
that  Is  the  way  you  feel.  Bob  is  in  luck." 

Bert  played  that  evening  in  the  presence  of 
his  predeces'sor  in  the  role,  and  on  Saturday 
took  the  morning  train  for  Chicago. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

SUCCESS  COMES  STRANGELY. 

L 

On  his  return  to  Chicago,  Bert  went  back 
to  Mrs.  Shelby's  boarding-house,  and  was  cor- 
dially received.  His  board  bill  was  but  six 
dollars  a  week,  and  he  took  care  not  to  spend 
any  money  unnecessarily  for  outside  expenses. 

About  the  middle  of  the  week  he  received  a 


Five  Hundred  Dollars,  251 

letter  from  Uncle  Jacob,  to  whom  he  had  tele- 
graphed his  movements. 

This  is  an  extract  therefrom : 

"  You  will  be  surprised  to  learn  that  your 
father  is  sick  at  Lakeville,  under  your  mother's 
care.  I  don't  think  his  trouble  is  physical  so 
much  as  mental.  If,  by  your  help,  his  repu- 
tation is  vindicated,  and  he  is  relieved  from 
suspicion,  I  am  sure  he  will  soon  be  himself 
again. 

"  There  is  some  risk,  no  doubt,  in  the  step 
he  has  taken.  He  might  be  denounced  and 
arrested,  if  information  were  given  to  the  au- 
thorities. But  a  long  time  has  elapsed  since 
the  charge  was  made,  and  no  one  in  Lakeville 
was  cognizant  of  the  circumstances  except  Al- 
bert Marlowe,  and,  though  he  may  learn  that 
the  city  boarder  at  your  house  is  your  father, 
I  cannot  believe  he  would  be  so  base  as  to  give 
a  hint  to  the  authorities.  If  he  should,  the 
letter  of  Kalph  Harding's  which  you  for- 
warded will  throw  suspicion  upon  him.  I  am 
anxious*,  however,  to  have  you  find  the  man 
himself,  as  his  oral  testimony  will  avail  more 
than  any  letters.  You  may  assure  him,  if 
found,  that  he  will  be  liberally  dealt  with,  if 
he  helps  clear  your  father. 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  may  be  situated  as 


252  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

to  money,  and  I  therefore  send  3'ou  an  order 
for  fifty  dollars.  Present  it  to  Clement  Green, 
of  No.  13i/>  La  Salle  Street,  and  he  will  cash 
it.  He  is  not  a  banker,  but  an  insurance 
agent,  with  whom  I  am  well  acquainted.  I 
am  glad  to  hear  that  you  have  left  the  stage, 
as  it  will  permit  you  to  devote  your  entire 
time  to  hunting  up  Ralph  Harding." 

On  account  of  the  income  from  his  dramatic 
engagement,  Bert  had  spent  but  little  of  his 
uncle's  money  for  the  la^st  three  weeks.  How- 
ever, he  thought  it  best  to  cash  the  order  at 
once,  as  he  might  have  unforeseen  expenses. 
He  accordingly  made  his  way  to  the  office  on 
La  Salle  Street  to  which  he  had  been  directed, 
and  presented  his  order  to  Mr.  Green  in  per- 
son. 

"  How  is  my  old  friend  Mr.  Marlowe? " 
asked  that  gentleman,  courteously. 

"  He  was  very  well  when  I  left  New  York," 
answered  Bert. 

"  I  knew  him  in  California.  In  fact,  we 
both  worked  together  in  the  same  mine.  Try 
to  persuade  him  to  come  out  to  Chicago.  I 
should  be  delighted  to  entertain  him.  Are 
you  a  relative  of  his?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  he  is  my  great  uncle." 

"  Shall  you  stay  long  in  Chicago?  " 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  253 

"  I  am  not  sure.  It  will  depend  on  my  busi- 
ness." 

"  You  are  young  to  be  intrusted  with  a  busi- 
ness matter." 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  there  was  no  one  else  to  un- 
dertake it." 

"  How  will  you  have  the  money?  " 

"  In  tens  and  fives." 

"  Very  well.  Let  me  advise  you  to  divide 
your  money  and  not  carry  it  all  in  your 
pocket-book.  You  know,  of  course,  that  in  a 
city  like  this  there  are  pickpockets  and  de- 
signing persons  who  would  be  glad  to  rob 
you." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  suggestion.  I  will  fol- 
low your  advice."  Bert  borrowed  an  en- 
velope, and  put  all  his  money,  except  about 
ten  dollars  in  small  bills,  in  the  inside  pocket 
of  his  vest.  This  was  wise,  for  he  had  fifty 
dollars  besides  the  sum  which  he  had  just  been 
paid.     It  proved  to  be  a  prudent  precaution. 

Outside  the  office  a  young  man  of  rather 
flashy  appearance  had  noticed  Bert,  and,  fol- 
lowing him  in  on  some  pretext  that  would 
avert  suspicion,  had  seen  that  Mr.  Green  was 
paying  him  money.  He  went  out  quickly,  and 
waited  till  Bert  emerged  into  the  street.  He 
[hen  quickened  his  steps,  and  overtook  him. 

f^  Good-iTiorning,  vouug  man,"  he  sinkh 


254  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

'^  Good-morning,"  returned  Bert,  eyeing  thi 
stranger  with  some  curiosity. 

"  You  must  excuse  the  liberty  I  have  taken 
in  addressing  you,  but  if  you  will  favor  me 
with  a  few  minutes'  conversation,  I  think  I 
can  make  it  worth  your  while." 

"  Very  well.  I  am  ready  to  hear  what  you 
have  to  say." 

"  By  the  way,  are  you  staying  at  a  hotel?  " 

"  No ;  I  am  boarding  on  Monroe  Street." 

"  Is  it  a  good  boarding-house?  " 

"  Excellent." 

"  I  am  looking  for  one,  and  if  you  will  allow 
me,  I  will  walk  round  with  you,  and  see  what 
it  is  like." 

Bert  knew  that  Mrs.  Shelby  had  a  room 
which  she  was  anxious  to  let,  and  he  readily 
agreed  to  introduce  the  stranger. 

"  I  am  staying  at  a  hotel  just  now,"  ex 
plained  his'  companion,  "  but  I  prefer  a  board- 
ing-house   as    more    home-like.    Are    you    a 
stranger  in  the  city?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

''Where  from?" 

"  From  New  York," 

"  I  am  from  San  Francisco.  I  have  only 
been  here  a  week." 

They  conversed  upon  indifferent  topics  till 
they  reached  Mrs,  Shelby's, 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  255 

"  I  will  go  np  and  take  a  look  at  your  room 
first,  if  you  don't  mind.  That  will  give  me  an 
\dea  of  the  accommodations." 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

Bert  led  the  way  to  his  own  room,  and  both 
entered. 

"  Very  neat,  on  my  word ! "  said  the 
stranger.  "  Now  I  will  allude  to  the  little 
matter  of  business — and  then  you  can  intro- 
duce me  to  your  landlady." 

"  Just  as  you  please,  sir." 

"  It  is  briefly  this :  Do  you  see  this  watch?  '^ 

He  took  out  a  showy  gold  watch,  and  held 
it  up  before  Bert. 

"  I  find  myself  unexpectedly  short  of  funds, 
owing  to  the  failure  of  a  remittance  to  come 
to  hand,  and  I  am  going  to  offer  you  this 
watch  at  a  bargain.     You  have  none,  I  see." 

"  No,  and  I  have  no  money  to  spare  to  buy 
one." 

"  Wait  till  I  offer  you  an  inducement.  This 
watch  cost  me  a  hundred  dollars.  I  have  had 
it  only  six  months.  I  offer  it  to  you  for 
twenty-five." 

"  I  presume  that  is  a  good  offer;  but  I  have 
no  money  of  my  own  that  I  can  use  for  the 
purpose  of  buying  a  watch." 

"  My  young  friend,  it  will  pay  you  to  bor- 


256  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

row,  for  you  can  double  your  money  on  the 
watch.     Any  one  will  give  you  fifty  for  it." 

"  Then  why  do  you  offer  it  to  me  for  twenty- 
five?  "  asked  Bert  shrewdly. 

"  Because  I  can't  wait  to  hunt  up  a  custo- 
mer." 

"  I  cannot  buy  it." 

"  Then  I  will  make  you  another  offer.  Lend 
me  ten  dollars  on  it,  and  I  will  redeem  it  in 
three  days,  and  give  you  five  dollars  for  the 
accommodation." 

Bert  hesitated.  It  seemed  an  easy  way  of 
earning  five  dollars. 

"  If  I  don't  redeem  it,  you  have  the  watch 
itself  for  security  for  a  ridiculously  small 
sum.  Of  course  I  shan't  give  you  the  chance, 
if  I  can  help  it.  I  expect  funds  from  San 
Francisco  to-morrow." 

"  I  think  I  shall  have  to  decline,"  Bert  said, 
after  a  pause;  "but  your  offer  seems  a  good 
one,  and  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  easily  get 
accommodated  elsewhere.'' 

Bert  was  not  prepared  for  the  next  move- 
ment. 

The  stranger  rose  from  his  seat,  drew  a 
sponge  from  his  pocket,  and  quickly  applied  it 
to  Bert's  nostrils.  Fie  felt  his  head  swimming 
and  consciousness  departing. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  257 

"  Aha,"  thought  the  stranger.  "  Mj  pru- 
dent young  friend  will  advance  money  this 
time  without  security." 

He  hastily  thmst  his  hand  into  Bert's 
pocket,  drew  out  his  pocket-book,  and,  without 
stopping  to  open  it  or  examine  its  contents, 
sprang  to  the  door,  with  the  intention  of  mak- 
ing his  escape. 

But  another  boarder  chanced  to  be  parsing 
through  the  entry  at  the  moment.  A  quick 
glance  revealed  to  him  Bert  unconscious  on  a 
chair,  and  the  pocket-book  in  the  hand  of  the 
man  who  was  leaving  the  room.  He  took  in 
the  situation  at  once. 

"  Give  me  that  pocket-book,"  he  said  sternly. 
The  other  looked  undecided. 

"  Give  it  to  me,  or  I  will  hold  you  and  sum- 
mon help.  If  you  surrender  it,  I  will  let  you 
go  scot  free." 

The  thief  muttered  an  execration,  but  did 
not  dare  to  refuse. 

The  boarder  entered  the  room  and  set  him- 
self to  reviving  Bert. 

"Where  am  I?"  asked  Bert,  languidly. 

"  You  are  all  right  now,"  was  the  reply. 


258  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Bert  looked  up  in  the  face  of  his  visitor,  and 
started  in  great  excitement. 

"  Tell  me,  quick,"  he  said,  "  are  you  not 
Ralph  Harding?" 

^'  Yes,  answered  the  other  in  great  surprise. 
*'  Who  are  you  that  recognizes  me?  " 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

RALPH  HARDING  IS  FOUND. 

Bert  was  still  partly  under  the  iafluence  of 
chloroform ;  but  the  sight  of  Ralph  Harding, 
whom  he  recognized  from  the  photograph 
which  had  been  given  him,  roused  him  from 
li'S'  stupefaction, 

Harding  repeated  his  question. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  asked,  "and  how  do 
you  know  me?  " 

"  I  am  Bert  Barton." 

"What?  not  the  son  of  John  Barton?"  ex- 
claimed Harding,  drawing  back  with  a  trou- 
bled look. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Bert,  gravely ;  "  I  am  the 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  259 

son  of  John  Barton,  and  I  have  been  in  search 
of  jou  for  several  weeks." 

"  You  have  been  In  search  of  me?  Why  did 
you  want  to  see  me?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  clear  my  father  of  the  falsB 
charge  which  was  brought  against  him  ten 
years  ago,''  answered  Bert,  firmly. 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean,"  stam- 
mered Harding,  who  had  sunk  back  into  a 
chair  and  was  eyeing  Bert  with  a  troubled 
look. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do,  Mr.  Harding.  It  was 
you  who  gave  the  information  that  one  of 
the  stolen  bonds  was  in  my  father's  overcoat 
pocket." 

"  It  was  true,"  said  Harding  doggedly. 

"  Where  were  the  rest?  "  asked  Bert,  point- 
edly. 

"  How  should  I  know?  Your  father  had 
them  secreted  somewhere,  I  suppose." 

"  You  know  better  than  that.  My  father 
was  innocent.  He  knew  nothing  of  the  bonds. 
An  enemy  plotted  to  get  him  into  trouble." 

"  Do  you  charge  me  with  being  that 
enemy?"  demanded  Harding. 


26o  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  You  had  something  to  do  with  it,  but  you 
were  the  instrument  of  another." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  "  admitted  Hard- 
ing, incautiously. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  the  name  of  that  other?  " 

"  Yes." 

**  It  is  Albert  Marlowe." 

Ralph  Harding  started  in  surprise. 

"  Does  he  admit  it? "  he  asked,  after  a 
pause. 

"  No;  he  does  not  know  that  it  is  suspected, 
I  want  you  to  back  me  up  in  the  demand  that 
he  clear  my  father  from  suspicion." 

"  He  will  never  do  it.  How  could  he,  with- 
out criminating  himself?  " 

"  Whatever  be  the  result,  my  father's  char- 
acter must  be  cleared." 

"  Tell  me,  is  your  father  still  living?  "  asked 
Balph  Harding,  earnestly. 

"  Yes,  he  is." 

"  Have  you  seen  him?  " 

"  Yes.  Poor  father,  he  has  suffered  much. 
fle  has  been  separated  from  my  mother  and 
myself  these  many  years,  and  has  not  dared 
to  show  himself  at  his  old  home,  or  among 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  261 

his  old  friends,  because  he  was  liable  to  be  ar- 
rested on  the  old  charge." 

Ralph  was  looking  down  upon  the  floor,  and 
his  features  were  working  convulsively.  Bert 
guessed  what  was  passing  throug'li  his  mind, 
and  paused  to  give  him  time. 

He  looked  up  after  a  while,  and  asked: 
"  What  would  you  have  me  do?  " 

"  Testify  to  what  you  know.  It  will  clear 
my  father,  and  he  can  come  home  once  more.'' 

"  But  it  will  condemn  Albert  Marlowe." 

"  Why  not  let  it?  He  is  tbe  guilty  man. 
Have  you  so  much  reason  to  like  Albert  Mar- 
lowe that  you  will  not  do  this  act  of  justice?  " 

"No!"  Ralph  Harding  burst  out,  and  his 
face  wore  an  expression  of  resentment.  "  He 
has  used  me  like  a  dog.  It  was  through  me 
that  he  became  a  rich  man,  and  in  return  he 
has  treated  me  with  contempt  and  indiffer- 
ence.    If  I  dared " 

"  You  would  expose  him?  " 

"  Yes,  I  would.  It  is  of  no  use  to  deny  what 
you  have  said.  Your  father  is  an  innocent 
man.  The  bonds  were  stolen  by  Albert  Mar- 
lowe." 


262  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Bert  looked  triumphant.  He  liad  wrung 
the  truth  from  the  accomplice  of  Squire  Mar- 
lowe. 

"  How  did  you  find  me?  "  asked  Harding, 
abruptly.  "  How  did  you  know  I  was  in 
Chicago?" 

"  I  was  told  so  by  your  sister," 

"  Have  you  been  in  Peoria,  then?  "  asked. 
Harding,  in  great  surprise. 

"Yes;  I  was  there  last  week." 

"  But — how  did  you  find  out  that  I  had  a 
sister?  " 

"  At  Harrisburg.  You  left  a  letter  from 
your  sister  at  your  boarding-house  there, 
which  gave  me  the  clew  I  wanted." 

"  And  liow  did  you  trace  me  to  Harris- 
burg?  " 

Bert  explained. 

"  And  you  defrayed  your  own  expenses?  I 
thought  you  and  your  mother  were  left  in 
poverty." 

"  So  we  were;  but  an  uncle  of  my  motfher's 
recently  returned  from  California,  and  it  is 
he  who  has  supplied  me  with  the  funds  needed 
for  my  journey." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  263 

"Then  he  is  wealthy?" 

"  I  don't  think  so.  He  is  employed  in  New 
York  on  a  small  salary,  but  he  is  liberal  with 
the  little  he  has.  He  has  set  his  heart  on 
cleaning  my  father's  reputation.  It  m  he  who 
sfent  me  on  my  present  mission." 

"  Does  your  father  think  that  Albert  Mar- 
lowe is  the  real  thief?  " 

"  He  does.  In  fact,  he  is  firmly  convinced 
of  it.  Now,  Mr.  Harding,  I  have  told  you  why 
I  wanted  to  find  you.  You  have  as  much  ag 
told  me  I  am  right  in  my  suspicion.  You  are 
partly  responsible  for  my  poor  father's  unde 
served  sufferings.  But  for  you  he  would 
never  have  been  charged  with  the  crime.  I» 
it  not  so?" 

"  I  admit  it,"  Kalph  Harding  answeredo 
slowly. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  who  put  the  bond  into 
my  father's  pocket?" 

"  I  did." 

"  And  who  prompted  you  to  do  it?  " 

"  It  was  the  man  you  suspected — Albert 
Marlowe." 


264  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  It  was  the  proceeds  of  his  theft  that  en- 
abled him  to  start  in  business,  was  it  not?" 

"  You  are  rigM." 

"  I  have  one  more  question  to  ask.  Will 
you  accompany  me  to  New  York  and  testify 
to  this,  if  needful?  " 

"  But  what  will  happen  to  me? "  asked 
Harding,  troubled. 

"My  uncle  bade  me  promise  you  that  we 
will  do  our  utmost  to  prevent  your  coming 
to  harm.  As  to  Albert  Marlowe,  we  shall  de- 
mand a  confession  from  him,  or  we  shall  have 
him  arrested,  and  the  whole  matter  investi- 
gated." 

Ralph  Harding  paused  for  a  brief  space, 
and  then  said. :  "  What  are  your  plans  if  I 
agree  to  help  you?  " 

"  To  start  for  New  York  to-niglit,"  answered 
Bert,  promptly.  "  In  New  York  I  w  ill  take 
you  to  Uncle  Jacob's  oflSce,  and  we  will  de- 
cide what  to  do  next," 

Harding  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said :  "  I 
believe  you  will  keep  your  promise,  and  I 
will  put  myself  in  your  hands.  I  always  liked 
your  father  better  than  Albert  Marlowe,  who 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  265 

is  a  very  selfish  man,  and  he  has  not  kept  his 
promise  to  me.  I  have  reproached  myself 
more  than  once  for  consenting  to  help  Marlowe 
in  his  plot.  It  has  never  been  out  of  my  mind. 
I  have  been  restless,  unable  to  settle  down  any- 
where, and  have  suffered  punishment  myself, 
though  not  as  severe  as  has  fallen  upon  your 
father.  When  I  have  made  reparation,  as  I 
now  have  a  chance  to  do,  I  shall  be  more  con- 
tented in  mind." 

"  Can  you  be  ready  to  take  the  evening  train 
with   me?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  are  you  living?  " 

"  In  this  house." 

"  Then  we  can  remain  together.  I  have  not 
thanked  you  yet  for  coming  to  my  help,  and 
saving   my  money." 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  helped  the  sou.  It  will 
help  offset  the  injury  I  have  done  the  father." 

Bert,  accompanied  by  Ralph  Harding,  took 
the  evening  train  for  New  York.  Their  arrival 
was  timely,  for  reasons  which  will  be  shown 
in  a  later  chapter. 


266  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

ALBERT  MARLOWE  MEETS  HIS  VICTIM. 

Like  most  wrong-doers,  Albert  Marlowe 
had  never  ceased  to  entertain  an  apprehension 
that  his  connections  with  the  bond  theft  would 
some  time  be  made  public.  Yet,  as  the  years 
rolled  by,  and  he  became  rich  and  prosperous, 
his  fears  abated  somewhat,  and  he  felt  no 
qualms  of  conscience,  though  he  knew  that  an 
innocent  man  was  suffering  exile  for  his  sake. 
When  he  thought  of  John  Barton  it  was  with 
dislike.  For  nothing  is  truer  than  the  saying 
that  we  dislike  those  whom  we  have  injured. 
He  did  not  know  whether  Barton  was  alive 
or  dead,  but  hoped  that  he  was  dead,  as  this 
would  make  him  absolutely  safe. 

When  he  learned  from  Percy  that  Mrs.  Bar- 
ton had  a  male  boarder,  his  fears  instantly 
suggested  that  it  might  be  John  Barton.  The 
description  given  by  Percy  tallied  with  his 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  267 

recollections  of  the  victim  of  his  wicked  plot 
His  fears  and  suspicions  were  instantly 
aroused.  Why  was  John  Barton  here?  He 
was  under  the  ban  of  the  law,  liable  to  be  re- 
arrested, yet  he  ran  that  risk.  What  object 
had  he  in  view?  That  he  sought  the  care  of 
his  wife  because  he  was  ill  did  not  seem  a  suf- 
ficient motive.  Evidently  it  behooved  him  to 
find  out,  first,  whether  Mrs.  Barton's  boarder 
was  really  her  husband;  and,  secondly,  if  such 
should  be  the  case,  to  warn  him  to  leave  Lake- 
ville.  It  gave  the  squire  an  uncomfortable 
feeling  to  have  his  victim  so  near  at  hand. 

First,  to  find  out  who  the  boarder  was.  Al- 
bert Marlowe  got  into  the  habit  of  walking 
two  or  three  times  a  day  past  the  cottage  of 
Mrs.  Barton,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  the  mys- 
terious stranger.  He  did  this  for  several 
days,  but  did  not  succeed  in  his  object.  The 
reason  was  that  Mr.  Barton  was  confined  by 
weakness  first  to  the  bed,  and  then  to  the 
lounge  in  the  little  sitting-room. 

But  on  the  fifth  day  Squire  Marlowe  was  in 
luck.  The  mysterious  boarder  was  walking 
to  and  fro  in  the  front  yard  attached  to  the 


268  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

cottage.  When  he  saw  Albert  Marlowe  be 
turned  away,  and  w^as  about  to  re-enter  the 
house.  The  squire  did  not  need  this  cor- 
roboration of  his  suspicion,  for  he  had  al- 
ready recognized  Barton,  though  the  two  had 
not  met  for  ten  years. 

He  set  his  face  firmly;  his  expression  be- 
came hard  and  dogged. 

"  That  man  must  leave  Lakeville ! "  he  said 
to  himself. 

Without  hesitation  he  opened  the  gate  ard 
entered  the  yard. 

Meanwhile  John  Barton,  seeing  that  he  was 
recognized,  came  to  a  halt,  and,  turning 
around,  faced  the  man  who  had  been  his  bitter 
enemy.  He  showed  no  signs  of  fear,  for  what 
had  happened  was  only  what  he  had  antici- 
pated. 

Squire  Marlowe  came  up  and  stood  at  his 
side. 

"  You  are  John  Barton,"  he  said.  "  Do  not 
attempt  to  deny  it ! '' 

"  I  do  not  propose  to  deny  it  to  you — Albert 
Marlowe,"  answered  Barton,  calmly. 

"  You  are   here  under  an   assumed  name. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  269 

I  was  told  that  Mrs.  Barton's  boarder  was 
named  Robinson." 

"  I  am  passing  under  that  name.  You  know 
why." 

"  Yes,  I  do  know  why.  You  are  under  the 
ban  of  the  law.  You  are  afraid  of  being  ar- 
rested and  brought  to  trial  a  second  time." 

"  I  know  there  is  danger  of  it,  and  of  course 
I  shrink  from   it." 

"  Then  why  do  you  come  here?  Are  you 
mad?" 

"  After  ten  years  I  wished  to  see  my  wife 
once  more.  I  am  a  sick  man.  I  came  to  her 
to  be  nursed  back  to  health." 

"  Take  care,  or  when  you  leave  here  it  will 
be  for  a  less  desirable  boarding-place  I "  said 
the  squire,  in  a  menacing  tone. 

"You  mean  the  prison?" 

"  Yes ;  that  is  what  I  mean." 

"  No  one  in  Lakeville  knows  who  I  am. 
Why  should  I  fear?  " 

"  I  know." 

"  Surely  you  would  not  betray  me — you, 
the  man  who  worked  for  years  at  my  side?  " 

"  I  cannot  compromise  with  crime.     It  is 


270  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

my  duty  as  a  good,  law-abiding  citizen,  to  de- 
nounce you  to  the  authorities." 

"  You — a  good,  law-abiding  citizen !  "  re- 
peated John  Barton,  with  scornful  emphasis. 

Squire  Marlowe  started  back  in  astonish- 
ment.    The  worm  had  turned. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  quesition  it?  '^  he  de- 
manded,  sharply. 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  On  what  grounds?  " 

"  Albert  Marlowe,"  said  John  Barton, 
sternly,  "  one  of  us  two  is  a  thief,  but  I  am 
not  the  one." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insult  me? "  exclaimed 
the  squire,  white  with  anger,  not  unmingled 
with  uneasy  fear. 

"  Come  in !  I  have  something  to  say  to  you. 
It  is  better  said  in-doors,  where  no  passer-by 
can  hear  it." 

Mechanically  Squire  Marlowe  followed 
John  Barton  into  the  little  sitting-room.  Mrs. 
Barton  looked  up  from  her  rocking-chair  in 
surprise  and  apprehension,  and  half  rose. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  Mary,"  said  her  hus- 
band. "  I  wish  you  to  hear  what  I  am  about 
to  mj  tq  Albert  Marlowe," 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  271 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

MR.   BARTON  DEFIES  THE  SQUIRE. 

Squire  Marlowe  sat  down,  while  Jolip 
Barton,  instead  of  quailing  in  his  presence, 
eyed  him  with  cool  indifference. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  tomfoolery?" 
asked  Albert  Marlowe,  uneasily. 

"  You  may  call  it  what  you  like,  but  the 
time  has  come  for  aii  explanation.  Albert 
Marlowe,  you  have  done  me  a  cruel  wrong. 
It  is  through  you  that  I  have  had  my  name 
blackened  and  have  been  forced  to  fly  from 
my   country." 

"  So  you  went  to  Canada,  did  you?  "  sneered 
the  squire.  "  It's  a  popular  resort  for  gentle- 
men of  your  class." 

"  Your  words  do  not  trouble  rae,  for  T  never 
committed  the  crime  with  which  I  was 
charged." 

"  Of  course  not.     It  is  wonderful  how  in- 


272  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

Docent  you  all  are.  But  you  say  that  I  am 
^responsyible  for  the  consequences  of  your 
crime.     What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"  I  mean/'  answered  Barton,  with  a  pene- 
trating glance,  "  that  the  bonds  were  stolen 
by  you,  and  that  you  schemed  to  throw  the 
blame  upon  me.     Is  this  plain?" 

"Are  you  mad?"  isaid  the  squire,  angrily, 
"  do  you  expect  the  world  to  believe  this,  or 
are  you  in  a  conspiracy  to  blackmail  me?  " 

"  The  last  question  you  can  ask  when  I  de- 
mand money  from  you  as  the  price  of  my  si- 
lence." 

"  Take  care,  John  Barton !  Your  silly  tale 
is  the  last  desperate  expedient  of  a  criminal. 
You  ought  to  see  the  folly  of  attacking  a  man 
in  my  position.  For  years  I  have  been  the 
most  prominent  man  in  Lakeville,  owner  of 
the  large  shoe  factory  that  gives  employment 
to  fifty  hands.  It  is  no  idle  boast — ^and  your 
wife  will  confirm  my  words — that  I  am  the 
most  influential  and  respected  citizen  of  this 
town," 

"  And  on  what  are  your  position  and  pros- 
perity based,  Albert  Marlowe?    Where  did  you 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  273 

obtain  the  capital  that  enabled  you  to  start 
in  business?  " 

Squire  Marlowe  looked  confused  for  a  mo- 
ment, but  his  audacity  did  not  desert  him. 

"  I  started,"  he  answered,  "  on  borrowed 
money." 

"Of  whom  did  you  borrow? " 

"  That  is  my  affair,"  returned  Marlowe,  dog- 
gedly. 

"  You  would  find  it  hard  to  answer.  Let 
me  answer  for  you." 

The  squire  did  not  speak,  but  waited,  not 
without  uneasiness,  for  Barton  to  answer  his 
own  question.     He  didn't  have  long  to  wait. 

"  You  started  your  factory  on  the  money 
realized  from  the  stolen  bonds." 

"  You  will  have  to  prove  this,"  said  Mar- 
lowe, furiously. 

"  Do  you  w'sh  me  to  do  so?  "  asked  John 
Barton,  significantly. 

"  This  is  all  a  scheme  to  clear  yourself  from 
the  charge,"  exclaimed  the  squire,  "  Don't 
think  I  am  so  dull  that  I  don't  see  through  it. 
How  happens  it  that  you  have  waited  ten  years 
before  it  occurred  to  you  to  implicate  me?  " 


274  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  It  did  not  immediately  occur  to  me ;  but 
=^  when  you  started  in  business  on  a  large  scale, 
though  you  were  no  better  off  than  myself  at 
the  time  of  the  theft,  it  set  me  to  thinking." 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  used  bor- 
rowed money." 

"  You  won't  tell  me  where  you  borrowed  it." 

"  Because  it  is  my  private  business.  John 
Barton,  I  warn  you  that  you  are  making  a 
powerful  enemy.  If  you  keep  quiet  and  let  me 
alone,  I  will  not  call  attention  to  your  presence 
in  Lakeville,  and  for  safety's  sake  I  will  not 
appear  to  know  anything  about  you.  Do  you 
make  that  promise?  " 

"  Albert  Marlowe,  I  am  an  innocent  man, 
but  I  am  under  a  ban.  I  want  to  prove  my 
innocence,  and  regain  the  right  to  live  with  my 
family,  and  hold  up  my  head  before  my  fellow- 
men.  If,  in  doing  this,  attention  should  be 
■  drawn  to  you  as  the  real  criminal  I  cannot 
help  it." 

"  So  you  defy  me,  do  you  ?  "  demanded  the 
squire. 

"  If  what  I  have  said  is  a  defiance,  then  I 
defy  you,"  answered  John  Barton,  calmly. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  275 

Squire  Marlowe  rose  from  liis  seat,  his  face 
flushed  with  anger. 

"  Be  it  so,"  he  said.  "  You  will  hear  from 
me  again." 

"  Oh,  John,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Barton  as  the 
squire  left  the  room,  "  I  am  afraid  Albert  will 
do  jou  some  harm." 

"  Then,  Mary,  to  relieve  you,  let  me  say  that 
I  have  heard  through  Uncle  Jacob  that  Bert 
has  found  the  missing  witness,  Ralph  Harding, 
and  that  both  are  probably  in  New  York  at 
this  moment." 

On  his  return  Squire  Marlowe  telegraphed 
from  a  neighboring  town  as  follows : 
"To  Robert  Manning,  No.  711-2  Fulton  St., 
Brooklyn : 

"  John  Barton,  who  ten  years  since  stole 
your  bonds,  and  escaped  trial,  is  at  Lakeville, 
at  his  wife's  house. 

"  Albert  Marlowe." 

The  last  act  in  the  drama  was  a]>out  to  be 
played,  and  Squire  Marlowe  went  about  with 
a  gleam  in  his  eye  as  he  anticipated  the  final 
downfall  of  the  man  who  had  dared  to  defy 
him. 


276  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

CONCLUSION. 

Bert  arrived  in  New  York  in  due  time,  ac- 
companied by  Ralph  Harding.  They  received 
a  cordial  welcome  from  Uncle  Jacob. 

"  You  shall  not  regret  your  testimony  in  be- 
half of  John  Barton,"  he  said  to  Harding.  "  I 
W'ill  see  that  you  are  protected." 

"  Uncle  Jacob,"  said  Bert,  "  I  have  twenty 
dollars  left  of  the  amount  you  gave  me  for  ex- 
penses.   Here  it  is." 

"  Keep  it,  Bert.    You  will  need  it." 

"  But,  Uncle  Jacob,  I  have  already  put  you 
to  too  great  expense.  If  you  were  a  rich 
man " 

Jacob  Marlowe  smiled. 

"  I  can  spare  the  money,"  he  said.  "  Don't 
trouble  yourself  on  that  score.  You  have  done 
yourself  great  credit,  Bert,  and  shown  great 
shrewdness  in  your  expedition  in  search  of  Mr. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  277 

Harding.  I  am  not  sure  that  you  would  not 
make  a  good  detective." 

"  I  have  no  ambition  in  that  direction,  Uncle 
Jacob.  I  hope  to  get  a  little  better  education, 
and  then  to  devote  myself  to  business." 

"  I  think  you  will  have  an  opportunity  to  do 
both,  Bert." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  get  me  a  place  of 
some  kind  in  New  York?  I  know,  of  course, 
that  I  must  work  before  I  can  afford  to  study." 

"  We  will  speak  of  that  later.  Now  I  have 
to  propose  that  we  all  go  down  to  Lakeville  to 
meet  your  father  and  mother,  and  incidentally 
to  have  an  interview  with  Albert  Marlowe." 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  go,  too?  "  asked  Kalph 
Harding. 

"  By  all  means !  You  are  the  most  import- 
ant member  of  the  party." 

Toward  noon  of  the  next  day  the  three 
reached  Lakeville.  Uncle  Jacob  and  Ralph 
Harding  secured  rooms  at  the  hotel,  and  then 
repaired  to  the  little  cottage. 

We  will  precede  them. 

It  was  in  the  spirit  of  revenge  that  the 
equire  had  telegraphed  to  Brooklyn,  and  after 


278  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

he  had  done  so  he  half  regretted  it.  If  John 
Barton  were  re-arrested,  he  would  undoubtedly 
try  to  incriminate  the  squire  himself,  and  the 
mere  accusation  would  do  him  harm.  It 
would  be  best  if  Barton  could  be  frightened 
into  making  his  escape,  and  this  very  act 
would  seem  like  a  confession  of  guilt. 

"  Yes,  that  will  be  best,"  thought  the  squire. 
*'  Barton  will  never  dare  to  come  back,  and  we 
shall  be  spared  the  scandal  of  a  trial." 

He  took  his  hat  and  cane,  and  set  out  for 
the  Barton  cottage. 

Mrs.  Barton  opened  the  door. 

"  Is  your  husband  in?  "  asked  the  squire. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  would  like  to  see  him  on  very  important 
business." 

"  I  will  see  you,"  said  John  Barton,  who  had 
overheard  the  squire's  words. 

"  Well?  "  he  said,  as  Marlowe  entered  the 
sitting-room. 

"  I  have  come  to  urge  you  to  leave  Lake- 
ville,"  began  the  squire,  abruptly.  "  There  is 
no  time  to  be  lost." 

"  Why  should  I  leave  Lakeville?  " 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  279 

"  You  don't  want  to  be  arrested,  I  take  it?  " 

"  Is  there  any  danger  of  it?  " 

"Yes;  I  telegraphed  yesterday  to  Robert 
Manning  that  you  were  here.  Officers  of  the 
law  may  arrive  at  any  time." 

"Why  did  you  betray  me?"  asked  Barton, 
quietly. 

"  Because  I  thought  it  my  duty.  I  had  no 
right  to  shield  a  criminal." 

"  Then  why  have  you  put  me  on  my  guard?  " 

"  For  your  wife's  sake." 

"  I  am  surprised  at  your  consideration.  You 
showed  very  little  when  you  discharged  my 
boy  from  your  factory." 

"  That  was  a  matter  of  business.  But  there 
is  no  time  to  waste  in  discussion.  I  advise  you 
to  go  to  the  station  at  once.  A  train  will  leave 
for  New  York  in  half  an  hour,  and  you  may  be 
able  to  escape  before  the  arrival  of  the  offi- 
cers." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  escape." 

"Are  you  mad?"  demanded  the  squire,  im- 
patiently. "  Do  you  want  to  spend  a  term  of 
years  in  prison?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid  I  " 


28o  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  Then  profit  by  my  warning,  and  escape 
while  there  is  time." 

"  No.    If  I  am  arrested  I  will  stand  trial." 
"  Have  you  taken  leave  of  your  senses?  " 
"  No ;  I  wish  to  prove  my  innocence." 
"  What  chance  have  you  of  that?  " 

"  The  testimony  of  Ralph  Harding " 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Squire  Marlowe,  rising 
in  great  agitation.  "  Where  is  Ealph  Hard- 
ing? " 

"  Here ! "  was  the  unexpected  reply,  and 
Uncle  Jacob  entered  the  room,  accompanied 
by  Bert  and  Mr.  Harding. 

Albert  Marlowe  turned  his  gaze  from  one  to 
another  in  ill-concealed  dismay. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  he  asked, 
hoarsely.  "  Have  you  been  hatching  up  a  plot 
against  me?" 

"  No,"  answered  Uncle  Jacob  with  dignity, 
"  It  is  our  object  to  relieve  John  Barton  from 
the  stigma  upon  his  fair  name.  In  doing  so  it 
may  be  necessary  to  fasten  the  crime  upon  the 
guilty  party.  Who  that  is,  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do." 

"No  one  will  credit  the  testimony  of  that 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  281 

man ! "  said  the  .squir«,  pointing  scornfully  at 
Ralph  Harding. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that !  His  story  is 
plain  and  straightforward,  and  I  think  it  will 
impress  the  court  that  way." 

"  Albert  ha?  been  urging  me  to  escape,"  said 
John  BartoTi.  "  He  has  set  the  officers  on  my 
track." 

"Has  be  done  this?"  asked  Uncle  Jacob, 
sharply. 

"  So  he  says." 

At  this  moment  a  knock  was  heard  at  the 
door,  and  there  was  a  new  and  unexpected  ar- 
rival, which  produced  a  sensation. 

It  was  Robert  Manning,  of  Brooklyn. 

"  You  telegraphed  to  me,  Mr.  Marlowe,"  he 
said.    "  This  man,  I  believe,  is  John  Barton." 

"  You  are  right,  sir,"  responded  Barton, 
calmly. 

"  I  might  have  brought  with  me  an  officer 
and  an  order  of  arrest,  but  I  have  chosen  in- 
stead to  offer  to  drop  all  action  against  you 
if  you  will  restore  the  bonds  or  their  equival- 
ent. I  have  no  wish  to  be  revenged,  but  I  want 
reparation." 


^^2  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  As  I  never  took  jour  bonds,  I  am  not  the 
person  to  apply  to,"  replied  Barton. 

"  Then  perhaps  you  will  have  the  kindness 
to  tell  me  who  did  take  the  bonds,"  said  Man- 
ning, incredulously. 

"  I  will  do  that,"  responded  Ralph  Harding, 
coming  forAvard.    "  There  he  stands ! " 

"  It  is  a  lie !"  interposed  the  squire,  hoarsely. 

"  It  is  true.  You  hired  me  to  put  a  five-hun- 
dred dollar  bond  into  John  Barton's  pocket 
while  you  appropriated  the  remainder.  It  was 
this  that  enabled  you  to  go  into  business  for 
yourself  in  Lakeville.  It  was  in  this  way  that 
you  got  together  your  wealth." 

Albert  Marlowe  was  overwhelmed,  and  did 
not  immediately  reply. 

"  I  think  I  remember  you,"  said  Robert 
Manning.  "  It  was  your  testimony  that 
weighed  so  heavily  against  Mr.  Barton." 

"  And  it  has  weighed  heavily  upon,  my  con- 
science ever  since.  I  have  at  last  determined 
to  tell  the  truth." 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  this,  Mr.  Mar- 
lowe? "  asked  Manning  pointedly. 

"  It  is  a  lie,"  answered  the  squire,  feebly. 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  283 

"  You  are  willing  to  have  the  matter  go  to 
trial?" 

"  Albert,"  put  in  Uncle  Jacob,  "  it  appears 
to  me  that  you  are  in  a  bad  box.  Ralph  Hard- 
ing's testimony  is  sure  to  convict  you.  Will 
you  take  my  advice?  " 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  the  squire,  sullenly. 

"  Accept  the  offer  made  to  John  Barton  un- 
der a  misapprehension.  Repay  to  Mr.  Man- 
ning the  value  of  the  stolen  bonds " 

"With  interest  attached,"  interposed  Man- 
ning. 

"  And  he  will  drop  the  matter.  Am  I  right, 
Mr.  Manning?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  It  will  amount  to  about  double  the  origi- 
nal sum — say  twelve  thousand  dollars." 

"  I  can't  raise  so  large  an  amount  in  cash." 

"  You  are  worth  more?  " 

"  Yes;  but  not  in  ready  money." 

"  I  will  advance  it  to  you,  and  take  a  bill  of 
sale  of  the  factory  and  your  house,"  said  Uncle 
Jacob. 

All  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  old  man  in 
amazement. 


284  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

"  But  where  will  you  get  the  money? " 
gasped  the  squire. 

"  I  can  raise  ten  times  that  sum,  if  neces- 
sary." 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  a  poor  man?  " 

"  I  never  told  you  so.  I  said  I  had  five  hun- 
dred dollars;  but  I  didn't  add  that  I  am  worth 
at  least  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  more. 
That  was  my  secret !  " 

"  You  said  that  you  invested  all  your  money 
in  some  mining  shares  that  depreciated  to 
nothing." 

"  I  foresaw  the  decline,  and  sold  out  at  a 
small  loss." 

"  Why  did  you  deceive  us? "  asked  the 
squire,  irritably." 

"  I  wanted  to  test  you  all.  When  you 
thought  me  poor,  you  gave  me  my  walking 
ticket;  but  Mary  here,"  and  Uncle  Jacob 
glanced  affectionately  at  Mrs.  Barton,  "  gave 
me  a  warm  welcome,  though  she  thought  me 
nearly  as  poor  as  herself.  I  shall  not  forget 
it.  Bert  also  did  not  look  down  upon  his  old 
uncle,  even  though  he  had  little  to  expect  from 
him." 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  2S5 

"But,  Uncle  Jacob,"  said  Bert,  "why,  if 
you  are  so  rich,  do  you  work  for  twelve  dollars 
a  week?  " 

"  It  was  a  harmless  deception,  Bert,"  he  re- 
plied. "  I  am  at  the  head  of  the  office  where 
you  think  me  employed,  and  president  of  one 
of  the  richest  mines  on  the  Pacific  Coast." 

"  Mr.  Marlowe,"  said  the  squire,  not  ventur- 
ing upon  the  familiar  name  of  Uncle  Jacob, 
"  instead  of  advancing  money  on  my  house, 
factory,  and  stock,  are  you  willing  to  buy  them 
outright?  " 

"At  what  sum  do  you  value  them?" 

"  Fifteen  thousand  dollars." 

"  It  is  a  bargain,"  said  Uncle  Jacob 
promptly. 

"  You  may  feel  disposed  to  run  the  business 
yourself." 

"  It  is  out  of  my  line.  I  shall  make  a  free 
gift  of  the  whole  to  John  Barton,  who,  I  sup- 
pose, is  quite  capable  of  taking  your  place." 

"  How  can  I  thank  you?"  said  Mr.  Barton, 
much  moved. 

"  By  making  Mary  happy.  Now,  Mr.  Man- 
ping,  if  you  and  Albert  Marlowe  will  call  to- 


286  Five  Hundred  Dollars. 

morrow  at  my  office  in  New  York  we  will  com- 
plete the  business.  John,  I  shall  not  need 
you ;  but  Bert  will  go  with  me  and  bring  jou 
back  the  deeds  of  the  property  I  propose  to 
transfer  to  you." 

That  evening  was'  a  happy  one  in  the  Bar- 
ton cottage,  but  there  was  vain  regret  and  dis- 
satisfaction at  the  home  of  Albert  Marlowe. 
Too  late  they  all  regretted  that  they  had  re- 
ceived Uncle  Jacob  so  coldly,  and  so  forfeited, 
in  all  probability,  their  chances  of  sharing  his 
wealth.  Percy's  great  regret  was  that  that 
Barton  boy  should  be  lifted  above  him. 

A  month  later,  and  the  changes  had  taken 
place.  The  Bartons  moved  to  Squire  Mar- 
lowe's handsome  house,  and  John  Barton  was 
installed  as  owner  and  head  of  the  shoe  fac- 
torj^  Bert  was  placed  at  an  academy,  where 
he  will  remain  till  he  has  acquired  a  good  edu- 
cation, and  then  will  enter  Uncle  Jacob's  of- 
fice in  the  cit}^  He  bids  fair  to  redeem  the 
promise  of  his  boyhood,  and  become  an  up- 
right and  manly  man.  Ralph  Harding  has 
been  made  superintendent  of  the  factory,  and 
enjoys  the  confidence  of  John  Barton^  wt^o  is 


Five  Hundred  Dollars.  287 

liappy  in  the  society  of  his  wife,  of  which  he 
was  deprived  for  so  many  years. 

Albert  Marlowe,  with  the  remainder  of  his 
money,  went  to  Illinois,  and  has  established  a 
small  shoe  factory  out  there.  He  is  a  discon- 
tented and  unhappy  man,  and  his  wife  is  peev* 
ish  and  discontented  also.  They  can  no  longer 
afford  the  expensive  establishment  they  main- 
tained in  Lakeville.  Percy  has  not  lost  all 
hopes  of  being  remembered  in  the  will  of  his 
wealthy  relative,  but  whether  he  will  or  not 
is  Jacob  Marlowe's  Secret. 

THE  END. 


